


It's Only A Paper Moon

by lunarjasmine



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/M, Force Bond (Star Wars), Inappropriate Use of the Force, My First Work in This Fandom, Reader-Insert, Tags May Change, Work In Progress, Workplace Relationship, author doesn't know what she's doing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-27
Updated: 2019-01-29
Packaged: 2019-03-24 18:14:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 23,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13816710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunarjasmine/pseuds/lunarjasmine
Summary: After inadvertently stumbling across a potential plot to assassinate General Hux, Reader-Insert's life changes in many ways. She'll have to juggle a budding relationship with an emotionally volatile Force user, the machinations of her increasingly petty commanding officer, and a lot of First Order red tape to get to her happy ending- if it even exists.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact, when I started writing this, I intended for Reader-Insert to fall for General Hux. The story had other ideas.

When your commanding officer gives you your schedule for the day, you're equal parts surprised and confused. One repair ticket is all you've been assigned, for a CZ secretary droid in a room on the Executive Deck of the Finalizer.

“I'm afraid I don't quite understand, Lieutenant Xar, sir.” You venture, glancing from your schedule to your CO and back again. “Are we low on tickets?”

“Commander Ren is on board.” The Lieutenant snorts, derision heavy in his voice. “So, no. Look, Cadet L/N, this one is a big ticket. It can't be rushed. I needed someone who can get this thing fixed, no matter how long it takes, which is why I gave it to you. Be on top of your game today. You'll need it.”

 _Ominous_. You think to yourself. Still, you're a good repair technician. One of the best, perhaps. You're not sure what the big deal was about this ticket- yes, it's a secretary droid on the Executive Deck, which means it belongs to a high-ranking officer, but it's just a burnt out droid, if that. Reading the notes, you wouldn't be surprised if they just hadn't charged the damn thing.

The halls of the ship grow quieter as you move further from the common areas. You've heard that Commander Ren demands silence on the Exec Deck, on pain of lightsaber dismemberment. Well, he's on board, which isn't great, but you're fairly sure that he'll be on the bridge arguing with the General, or maybe destroying an irreplaceable and mission-critical terminal somewhere. You don't expect to run into him.

Until the thought occurs to you. _Stars, what if it's Commander Ren’s droid and that's why the Lieutenant is so wound up about it?_

You read over the notes again. _Can't be. This droid is still in one piece._

Word in the junior mess is that Commander Ren can read minds. Ordinarily, that wouldn't phase you- you're just a cadet, after all, odds of you meeting him are slim to none- but today, on this deck, the prospect is a little more worrisome. You put the enigmatic Force wielder out of your mind.

The palm reader accepts your temporary clearance and displays a message that clearance onto the Executive Deck will be revoked in eleven hours, fifty-nine minutes. They really did give you all shift and then some for a single repair.

The doors slide closed behind you with a pneumatic hiss, so soft that it might be a whisper from two decks down. Even the doors up here are nicer, it seems. Once the doors are shut, the silence is near absolute. You can hear the oxygenators humming, forcing fresh air through the vents, and a very faint throbbing that might be the grav-force generator. Besides that, all is still. If you focus, you can even hear your pulse. You can't hear your footsteps; the floor of the Exec Deck is covered with a thick layer of impossibly plush carpet, doubtless for better insulation against noise.

There are no numbers on any of the doors, and you check and double check the notes in your ticket to ensure that you have the correct room. You can't afford a mix-up today. Your finger punches the code in, and the keypad glows green, the door unlocking with a ‘click’ that seems to reverberate through the hall. It slides noiselessly into the wall, and you enter.

The first thing you notice about the quarters that you've entered is that they are immaculate. The carpet looks recently vacuumed, the grey couch in the living area has nary a pillow out of place. The bookshelves have a collection of books all placed in perfect size order.

The second thing you notice is that aside from the books, you don't see any personal effects on display that could tell you anything about the owner of the room. The most you can glean about this officer is that he or she is extremely tidy and well-read. It doesn't really matter, as you don't know most of the officers, but you are a little disappointed that your curiosity won't be sated.

The CZ unit that you've come to service is in the bedroom, according to the notes, which necessitates a secondary code. You suppress your eye roll with difficulty. Who does this officer think they are? Why would they need a secondary access code on their bedroom door?

Idly, you wonder if perhaps something truly scandalous will be revealed when you open the door- grav-cuffs, an electro-whip or a sex swing maybe- but you are disappointed. The bedroom is every bit as pristine as the rest of the living space. The precisely made bed looks large enough to house an entire Stormtrooper battalion, and for a moment you are bitterly jealous, thinking of your tiny twin bunk. Of course, being on the petite side, you make it work, but that doesn't mean you wouldn't enjoy something more comfortable.

The secretary droid is powered down in a corner, looking forlorn. You have a tendency to anthropomorphize the droids you service, always have. In this case, it's hard not to. This series is humanoid, after all, and its head lolls against its chest plate, photoreceptors dark. As you begin triage, you notice something amiss almost immediately. The faint scent of ozone lingers around the droid, electricity and metal and burnt circuitry. An electric surge? A corrupted or faulty power supply?

Your hands brush the chest plate and immediately cringe back from the unexpected heat. _If it was powered down for that length of time, it shouldn't still be hot_ , you note. _Has to be getting juice somehow._ Your eyes skim the chest plate, and hone in on a small cylindrical device. _Restraining bolt._ You touch it gingerly with the very tips of your fingers, snatching them away just as quickly.

The source of the unusual heat seems to be the bolt. Not wanting to touch it again, you dig through your toolkit for a pair of insulated clamps to pull the bolt out, dropping it onto a cloth you keep in your bag. Shining a light into the remaining hole, you notice a loose wire gleaming in the hole, sparking with electricity. The insulated clamps go in again and you retrieve it.

 _Not First Order manufacture._ You remark mentally, examining it. The insulation has been stripped from both ends, likely causing the restraining bolt to overheat. You turn it over in your hands, careful only to touch the insulated parts. After a few moments of scrutiny, you shrug and place it aside. It definitely didn't come with the restraining bolt. In fact, it doesn't even look like any of the wiring that belongs inside the droid.

Consigning the misplaced wire to your mental ‘Life’s Mysteries’ box, you examine the restraining bolt again, now that it's cool enough to touch. With some minor dismay, you notice that the connector on the end of the bolt is charred black, utterly ruined by coming into contact with the stray cable. _Restraining bolt won't work once it's shorted out like this._ The thought passes through your mind without further commentary, and you pull your datapad to you to begin taking notes on the repair.

All too soon though, a chill steals up your spine as your subconscious pieces together the full implications of your previous thought. Admittedly, the technology you're handling is fairly uncommon, but you still remember a little of the droid security coursework you studied for your interview. _Restraining bolts are used to keep droids from doing anything unauthorized, or being accessed by someone that isn't the user. This one won't work like this._ That thought turns into:  _It's a high ranking officer's personal droid and the restraining bolt is broken. The restraining bolt was shorted out by a piece of wire that doesn't belong there._

The silence is deafening. A thin sheen of oily sweat breaks out over your entire body. You can't have just stumbled on a sabotaged droid… Can you?

“Maybe the user put it there?” Your voice sounds very small and unsure in the stillness of the empty room. As much as you might like to, you can't imagine whatever officer that owns the droid pulling out the bolt and stuffing a random wire they scrounged up off the floor somewhere into the socket for safekeeping.

Abandoning your notes, you reach in your bag with unsteady fingers and pull out your comlink. When all else fails, get your commanding officer on the line, that's your motto.

The lieutenant takes a painfully long time to answer his com. He always does, but this time it feels even longer than usual, seconds seeming to swell and bloat and extend. By the time you hear his voice, tinny and choked with static, you could swear that it has been at least an hour, though the clock on your datapad indicates that it hasn't even been a minute. “What do you need, Cadet L/N?”

“Lieutenant Xar, sir.” You take a deep breath, gathering your scattered thoughts. “Um. Has anyone ever worked on this droid before, sir?”

“Not that I know of.” He answers. “We don't have any record of it, at least. Why?”

“Well, the droid has a restraining bolt in it, and I found this extra piece of wire that doesn't belong in the droid stuck in the restraining bolt socket. The bolt is completely shorted out and non-functional now.”

You can practically hear the wheels turning as he digests the information. “An extra piece of wire.”

“Yes.”

“That doesn't belong in the droid at all.”

“Yes.”

“And it ruined the safety system of the droid.”

“Yes, sir.”

Lieutenant Xar sighs, a sound like crackling static. “Cadet. This is a potential security breach you're telling me about. I'm only going to ask you this one time. Are you absolutely, unequivocally sure that this wire doesn't belong there?”

Still holding your comlink, you shine the beam of your pocket flashlight into the socket, looking for any place the wire might have plugged into. “I'm looking at the bolt and the socket now, Lieutenant. Not only does the wire not have a plug on either end, there's nowhere for it to plug into if it did. The wire definitely doesn't belong.”

He is silent for so long, you begin to wonder if you might have lost the connection. Finally, he speaks. “Fuck.” Another of those staticky sighs. “Cadet, I know this isn't what you want to hear, but I need you to sit tight in the room. The droid is off, correct? There's no chance of it coming back online at this time?”

“That's correct, sir. When the bolt overloaded, it looks like it took out the whole droid.”

“I'm going to have to get one of the senior officers involved. A potentially sabatoged droid on the Executive Deck is really serious news. Possible assassination attempt serious. Hold your position. Do NOT leave the area until authorized.”

“Understood, sir.” You swallow around a lump in your throat.

Hearing the anxiety in your voice, your CO softens. “I know, Cadet. This is stressful for me too. Don't panic. If it does turn out that the situation is ‘assassination attempt’ serious, the fact that you're the one who called it in means you're not a potential suspect. In fact,” he tries to inject some levity into the situation, a transparent attempt to comfort you. “If that turns out to be the case, you might get a military award or something.”

You give a weak little laugh that is more like a cough, your throat too tight to really say much more. It's one thing to hear that you're not a potential suspect in a plot to steal First Order data or murder a high-ranking First Order member, but until you're conclusively cleared of any possible wrongdoing, the threat of execution and/or reconditioning still lingers. Still, what else could you have done? _If I hadn't reported it,_ you reason with yourself, _then it would have only made me look like I had something to hide._

Sinking down onto the carpet and drawing your knees to your chest, you wait nervously for something to happen.


	2. Chapter 2

It doesn't take long. It feels long, seated on the floor of some anonymous officer’s bedroom, waiting to hear if you might be accused of treason, but when your comlink begins to beep, you check the time on your datapad again and realize that less than a half hour has gone by. “Hello?”

“Don't panic, Cadet.” Lieutenant Xar sounds like he's panicking, which robs the words of any soothing effect they might have had. “Commander Ren has ordered the Executive Deck locked down. No one in or out. He's coming to interview you.”

“To _interview_ me?”

“He wants to see the wire and the droid, and for you to tell him what you saw.”

“He wants me to tell him, or he wants to rip the information out of my skull?” Your voice is becoming increasingly anxious; you can hear it and you hate it. You usually pride yourself in keeping your cool under pressure and you'd like to maintain that personal schema. To that end, you bite down hard on your lower lip, until your mouth begins to taste like iron and you feel like you might have control over yourself. Your CO is still speaking into your ear, but the noise is rendered meaningless when you hear the door to the apartment slide open. “I think the Commander is here,” you interject, cutting him off mid statement.

“Call me when he finishes.” Xar demands, ending the transmission.

Forcing yourself to your feet as the bedroom door opens, you swallow your nervousness (or attempt, at least) to greet the imposing figure.

Commander Ren would be frightening enough based on the sheer strength of his presence. A tall, solidly built man, he dwarfs your petite frame. The dark robes he wears add to his threatening aura, and the cold, unreadable durasteel of his mask all combine together to turn him into a figure that can inspire dread just by entering a room and breathing. When you add in his notoriously volatile temper, and his fabled ability to read minds, it really is no wonder that people try so hard to get out of his way. This is the closest you've ever been to him.

You can't help but wonder what he looks like under the mask; old, young, handsome, ugly, blond, brunet, redheaded, bald? Some people have suggested that he might even be a cyborg, like Darth Vader.

“Cadet L/N.” He replies to your uneasy greeting, shaking you out of your ponderings. It's impossible to tell the tone of his voice with any degree of certainty; his mask distorts and mechanizes it, adding another layer of intimidation to his presence. You can't figure out what he's thinking or how he's feeling, and the blankness of his emotional response does little to assuage your fear. He stares wordlessly at you for an uncomfortable length of time before he speaks again. “I only rip things out of the skulls of uncooperative people. I'd much prefer if you gave me the information, rather than making me take it.”

_That's a relief._ Out loud, you answer, “Of course, Commander Ren. Anything you need to know.”

“Good.” He crosses the room in three long strides, coming to a stop a scant few feet in front of you, less than arm's length. You suppress the desire to flinch away as he raises both black gloved hands to either side of your face. “Don't tense,” is all he offers as a warning.

_Tell me what you saw._ The thought isn't yours, the voice different.

_Is that what he sounds like without the mask?_ You can't help but wonder.

No answer, but a sense of uncomfortable pressure, in your sinuses, in your ears, behind your eyes. _Tell me._ The voice is more insistent, a faint bass hum beginning in your ears.

The instant you turn your thoughts to the droid, the pressure eases, and you are grateful. You recall walking into the room, your preliminary examination of the droid, the bolt burning your fingers. It feels like Commander Ren is reading over your shoulder and it helps you remember even minute details. The smell of ozone intensifying when you removed the restraining bolt. The blue sparks that had greeted you. The faint heat of the wires, the smears of black soot they left on your fingertips. Something- Commander Ren’s mind probe, you suppose- digs into your mind and you flinch. The resultant pain is immediate, fibrous and sickening, making you unsteady on your feet.

_I **told** you not to do that._ He snaps. One of his hands grips your elbow tight, holding you upright.

_It's not everyday that someone goes looking through your mind, you know!_ Your thought is sharp, much sharper than you intended, and the realization that you've just (mentally) yelled at one of the highest ranking men in the First Order brings you back to the present moment in an uncomfortable jolt. _Void, I'm probably going to be murdered or reconditioned now._

_You'll be neither._ The angry edge is bleeding away from him now, being replaced with something that you can't quite identify. Faint amusement mingled with exasperation, perhaps? You get a sudden flicker of insight, like a heavy curtain being pulled back from a window- _This one has some fight in her, it seems_ \- and then all is quiet again. Your thoughts are turned to your conversation with Lieutenant Xar, and you find yourself mulling over it. His word choices, the tone of his voice, how nervous he seemed.

It feels as though Commander Ren is driving your mind like one would pilot a ship, and you are unsure if you like it.

_You don't have to like it._ The response is instantaneous and predictable. _You only need to submit to it and I won't be forced to hurt you again._

You struggle to take a deep breath, not wanting to push your luck by yelling twice in one conversation. _I wasn't fighting you before._ You explain. _It was just a new sensation and I didn't know how to react to it. I apologize, sir._

_Accepted._ The tone is still crisp, but the hand gripping your elbow gentles and something like the outside edges of chagrin colors his next thought. _Sometimes I forget how unpleasant it can be, if you are unaccustomed._

Commander Ren takes a half step away from you, and you feel as though a weight has been lifted away from your shoulders. You can feel him leave your mind, feel your thoughts become your own, as much as they can be, with the powerful Force wielder so near. “Show me the wire.” His modulated voice is especially harsh after hearing his unaltered one inside your mind.

He rolls it between his fingers, tests the tensile strength, and then stares (intently, if his posture is any indication) at it for a moment, before dropping it back onto the cloth it was resting on. His robes drag across the carpet, hissing against the plush softness as he kneels next to the droid, one hand outstretched. The position is reminiscent of how he initiated his Force probe with you, and it raises questions, ones you don't even get to verbalize before he speaks again.

“No, I can't probe the droid. Sometimes the Force offers visions.” You hope for more explanation, but he doesn't offer any, instead straightening up and heading for the door, crossing the room again in just a few strides of his long legs. In motion, he is more graceful than one might expect, seeming to glide more than walk. “Follow me, Cadet.”

You stoop to get your bag, but something- the Force, most likely- pushes you in the small of your back. Taking the hint, you leave your things where they are and do as you are told.

Commander Ren is quite tall. Taller than you, certainly. You'd noticed it before, but now that you're forced to trot along behind him in a sad effort to keep up with his pace, it is even more glaringly apparent. Ren doesn't slow his strides in the slightest, though he clearly takes note of when you fall behind, driving you forward with an impatient Force shove whenever he judges you to be too far away. Mindful of his ability to pick up on your thoughts, you bite the inside of your cheek and think of static to cover the rising swell of your irritation.

He pauses at the door leading to the rest of the ship, folding his arms across his chest as he waits for you to catch up. “While I appreciate your efforts to cover your thoughts, Cadet, they are ineffective. You think very loudly. Step up to the retinal scanner.”

You're pretty sure there wasn't one of those when you came in, but you're not willing to ask about it, and the Commander doesn't offer any explanation or comment.

The machine adjusts to your height, a laser emitter sliding down a vertical track to become level with your eyes while two metal arms slide under your chin and over your head, keeping you in place. A quick flash of red light, and you are released, dots flashing in your eyes. You rub them, blinking owlishly as they fade. While you recollect yourself, Commander Ren stands beside you, pulling off one glove to place his palm on a palm reader that you are equally certain was not there earlier either. His skin is light, his hands in proportion with his large frame, one knuckle marked by a small scar, perhaps a burn. It humanizes him somehow. Now that you think of it, you realize that you've never heard anyone claim to have seen him with the gloves off either; this is the first concrete evidence that he is truly flesh and blood under the mask and armor, same as you.

Something in that realization makes you feel more kindly towards him, although that is short-lived once he resumes his brutal pace, blazing through the quiet halls like he has death and dismemberment on his mind. Perhaps he does. This time, when you fall behind, he doesn't push you. Instead, he pulls, the Force grabbing you by ankles and wrists and towing you along behind him.

_I can walk, Commander!_ You protest. You've haven't tried to initiate mental conversation with him before, but you're too far behind to say it without shouting, and you don't want to draw any more attention to the embarrassing predicament than you might otherwise need to.

_You are **so** slow._ You can feel the full force of his glare behind the thought, even though he doesn't remove the mask or turn around.

_You're a foot taller than me and you walk like-_ You cut the sullen, unprofessional thought off right before it becomes something you might regret.

_Like?_ The tone of thought is deceptively casual, as though goading you to respond. You wonder if he's carrying his lightsaber- you have an idea that if you continue this particular conversation, you'll find out.

_Nothing, sir._ You reply, unwilling to be provoked into an argument that may or may not end in violence. While you've always been interested in seeing a lightsaber close up, having one buried in your chest isn't quite what you had in mind.

_Smart girl._ Commander Ren lowers you to the floor until the soles of your work shoes just barely make contact. He still uses the Force to propel you along, but this way it at least looks like you're moving under your own power. You think grateful thoughts in his general direction and he gives you a short nod of acknowledgement.

If you weren't so preoccupied with the whole ‘sabatoged droid’ thing, you might enjoy walking onto the bridge alongside the Commander. He has a presence that dominates a room, and your close proximity to him means that by extension, your presence dominates the room as well. It's almost like being the popular girl in school.

Except everyone is terrified of you. Actually, that means it's _exactly_ like being the popular girl in school.

The flow of conversation stops utterly when the two of you arrive, the employees giving the both of you frightened looks before dropping their heads and fixating on their work. You even catch the eye of a new junior communications officer you know in passing. She pulled rank on you to snag the last dessert during dinner in the junior mess a few days ago. She looks like she regrets it now, her face blanching slightly as you make eye contact. Oh, the possibilities are endless. You wonder if you can convince Commander Ren to let you accompany him to more places.

An intense wave of amusement overtakes you at that last thought; it takes you a second to realize it's coming from Commander Ren. _Focus, Cadet. We're here to talk to General Hux, not to indulge in shows of power to feed our own egos._ He looks down at you; it's impossible to say for sure, but you have a suspicion that he might actually be _smiling._ Certainly smirking at the very least. “Perhaps later.” He finishes aloud, making the junior comms officer cringe.

The two of you come to a stop just behind another figure that you'd never expected to see so close-up: General Hux. He doesn't turn to acknowledge either of you right away; you take the opportunity to observe him.

He is nearly as tall as Commander Ren, but less broad. The dim fire of his hair glints under the lights. He stands at a modified parade rest, shoulders back, feet together, gloved hands behind his back, left wrist loosely grasped in right. You can't see anything of note outside of the window he stands in front of, only the jeweler's velvet of space.

People tend towards movement. Even when sitting or standing ‘still’, there are usually minute shifts in posture. Weight transferring from one foot to the next, fingers flexed or relaxed. A breath that is deeper than all the rest, raising the shoulders. A slight turn of the neck. General Hux doesn't exhibit any of those. He might have been a statue.

_Years of military training._ You figure. _Wonder if he even notices that we're here._

_Of course he does._ Commander Ren answers. _He saw our reflection in the glass. He's ignoring us._ A pause. _He's ignoring **me** , specifically._

You hope that isn't your cue to start the conversation.

_I would advise against it._

That's a relief. Still, you can't help but admire the determined way the General attempts to disregard the Commander's presence. While the man beside you shifts and folds his arms, growing more and more annoyed, the one in front of you remains impassive. He is likely the only person aboard the ship to ignore Commander Ren in that manner, and also likely the only person that cannot die a violent death by lightsaber for it. The power dynamic is fascinating.

_Force choke._ You look up at the Commander, wordlessly asking for clarification. _I wouldn't use my lightsaber. I'd Force choke the life out of him._ The tone of his thoughts become darker. Belatedly, you realize that what you thought was anger previously was barely even mild annoyance. Now Commander Ren is truly getting angry; you can feel it bubbling under the thin veneer of his control, only needing the lightest push to come spewing out like magma.

If he were anyone other than… Well, Commander Ren, you might attempt to calm him down. You've always been good at that. A squeeze of the shoulder, a light rub of your hand against his back. You've even given scalp scratches to a stressed out radar tech on his first day on the job. But those people were your peers. This man outranks you by a _lot_ , and also, lightsaber. You could lose an arm.

He sighs explosively; the mask is unable to synthesize it, emitting a strangled static noise, a bad comlink connection. _You wouldn't lose an arm. You would spark an astonishing amount of lower deck gossip. Either way, the thought is… appreciated._

“Commander Ren. Cadet.” The General’s voice is smug. Apparently by his metric, the Commander has lost their little game of ‘Bet I Can Make You Talk First’. “To what do I owe this visit?”

“This conversation is better held in your office.” Commander Ren turns abruptly enough to hit the other man with his robes; you notice the General’s fingers ball into a fist. General: 1, Commander: 1, and it's anybody’s game. “This way, Cadet L/N.”

It's more of a warning that he's going to move you than a direction to follow, as the familiar feeling of being Force pulled along returns. Not that you're complaining this time; both men are taller than you, and given the friction between them, you are entirely unsurprised when the walk to General Hux’s office turns into each of them trying to outpace the other. You never would have kept up. Commander Ren has to concede defeat in the end, as General Hux needs to be the one to open the door, but it was a close thing.

The General takes his time entering his passcode, stepping between the Commander and the door for no real reason aside from bothering the other man. As the door slides open, before Commander Ren can move forward, General Hux gives you a smile that utterly fails to reach his cold, grey eyes and says, “After you, _Cadet_.”

_And I've officially become a pawn in their chess game. Excellent._


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a little shorter. I had a longer Chapter 3, but I felt like it was starting to drag. I think chopping it in half makes it flow better.

You assumed that the General directed you to enter first merely out of spite, but as you enter the room, you discover that his pettiness runs much, _much_ deeper than you anticipated. There's only one chair in front of his desk and he gestures for you to take it. It's not entirely your decision, as Commander Ren is still moving you about like a marionette, but the Force wielder plops you down in any case.

“I apologize, Commander.” The redhead says, sounding very much as though he has never been less repentant in his entire life. “Had I been notified that you wished to meet with me and that you were bringing company, I could have arranged for seating for both of you. As it stands, I think it's more polite to let the young lady sit.”

“No apology necessary, General. I hadn't realized the First Order was in the throes of a chair shortage.”

You can't be entirely certain, but that sounded rather sarcastic, even through the mask.

“Yes, well. After the lightsaber incident in the officer's mess a few days ago, we do seem to be running a little short.”

_What lightsaber incident was that? How did I miss that story?_

_Tell you about it later. Focus._

General Hux takes a seat at his desk, turning on a recording device nearby, the only thing you see on the tabletop. “Begin recording. What can I do for the both of you?”

“Cadet L/N here,” Commander Ren taps your shoulder lightly. An unnecessary gesture, you feel, as there isn't anyone else you could currently be confused with. Maybe that was the point. “Is a droid repair technician working with Engineering. She was dispatched to the Executive Deck this morning to work on a CZ secretary droid. Your CZ secretary droid.”

“Yes, I put in a request last night. Good to see that Engineering is on top of these things.” Evidently instantly and severely bored, the General’s eyes begin to wander back to his datapad. “I trust you didn't bring Miss L/N to the bridge simply for that. I received the notification earlier today that the repair had been started.”

_No wonder Lieutenant Xar was so wound up about that ticket. And if that wasn't enough… Void, someone tried, no, **succeeded** in sabotaging General Hux’s droid. This is going to be a long day, isn't it?_

“You'll be better at elaborating on the technical aspects than I, Cadet.”

That sounds like your cue to start talking. “General Hux, while I was performing triage on your droid, I noticed that the restraining bolt was damaged.”

You have his full attention now, not that you much wanted it. His datapad, which had found its way back into his hands while he was speaking, is placed on the desk as he leans forward, fixing you with a stare that makes you feel a little like an insect being pinned to a board for study by an unscrupulous scientist. “An interesting diagnosis. Were you able to repair it, Cadet?”

“The issue is, sir, when I removed the bolt, I found an extraneous wire in the socket. It does not belong in the droid, and doesn't seem to be like the wiring we use in our electronics. Additionally, I found that the insulation was purposefully removed from both ends of the wire, allowing a greater transfer of electricity from the droid to the bolt. That appears to be what shorted out your restraining bolt, and damaged your droid.”

The General straightens in his seat, steepling his fingers thoughtfully as he considers you. “Speak freely, Cadet. As I am understanding your report, there seems to be an implication of external tampering. Is that the case?”

You nod. “It appears so, yes. When the restraining bolt shorted out, so did the entire droid, which is fortunate. However, if things hadn't happened that way… If only the bolt had failed, instead of the entire droid, that means that the droid would have unrestricted personal autonomy. Beyond that, it also opens up the possibility of the droid being remotely accessed and controlled by someone who isn't you.”

“I've already locked down the entire Executive Deck.” Commander Ren adds. “No access, aside from authorized personnel. According to the logs, no one has entered or exited since the lockdown aside from Cadet L/N and myself. I've already mind probed her. She's not the culprit.”

The redhead rubs a spot over his left eye, his face contorting into a frown. “Another security breach. It hasn't even been a week since the last one.” He sighs. “Precisely what I did not need on my plate right now.”

“ _Another_ security breach?” You can't hide your shock and horror at the nonchalance of the statement. “There have been others?”

The look that General Hux gives you that time is marginally warmer. “Your loyalty and or naivete is refreshing, Cadet.” To Commander Ren, “Have you already pulled the security logs?”

“They've already been downloaded to both of our datapads.”

“Good. Thank you, Commander. Cadet, you won't be able to return to your duties until the culprit has been apprehended. You'll get the days off with pay, of course. I'll inform your CO.” He starts typing again. To anyone else, that would be a clear sign of being dismissed. Not so to the man standing behind you.

“Do we have a place to put her?” Commander Ren asks. “She can't go back into the dormitories.”

 _Why not?_ You ask him.

_People will talk. The whole ship will know you had a private meeting with the two of us within hours. If the saboteur is on board, they'll be able to figure things out._

The redhead's frown deepens to an impressive degree as he gives the space above your head a look that, if you had to put it into words, might say ‘why are you still here bothering me with these questions?’. He has to crane his neck upwards to manage it. Commander Ren exacerbates this by bracing his hands on the back of your chair and leaning forward, looming over the both of you. You're not particularly bothered, having already gotten accustomed to his technique of hovering ominously over people. General Hux, however, has not. He sniffs, somehow striving to (and succeeding at) looking down his nose at the man brooding above him. It's an impressive skill, to be quite honest.

_Whose side are you on, Cadet?_

You suppress a shrug with difficulty. _I'm just saying, you'd think that action would be logistically impossible._

“Why not put her on the Executive Deck?” General Hux suggests, breaking into your thoughts. “If you've already cleared her, then giving her authorized access to the deck is low risk. She should be fine there.”

There's a glint that you're not sure you like in his eyes, the unethical scientist leaning in close with the pin while you squirm. While it'll be great to have your own space sans roommates for a little while to relax, sprawl out, jill off- well, maybe you shouldn't think about that last part with Commander Ren so close by- you just wonder what the catch is that has him looking so satisfied. You decide to put it out of your mind, figuring that the actual mind reader standing behind you will voice an objection if it's anything worth being concerned over.

“I'll bring her to the deck and get her authorized.”

“Yes, yes.” The redhead sounds bored once again, leading you to wonder what his life is like, if hearing that someone is trying to sabotage his technology and possibly even kill him can only keep him emotionally invested in a conversation for ten minutes at a time. “Thank you, Commander Ren. Thank you as well, Cadet L/N. Your service has been duly noted and appreciated.”

That _really_ sounds like a dismissal. Not that you needed the implication, but he looks over your head once more, making eye contact with the Commander, and then pointedly staring at the door. You wonder if Commander Ren is going to start talking again, just to irritate him, but he moves away from your seat towards the direction indicated. “Of course, General. Cadet.” He must feel as though he's been annoying enough for one morning.

Taking the hint, you make your pleasantries and steel yourself for the Commander to start propelling you along the halls again, but to your surprise, he doesn't. Instead, he matches your pace as you leave the office. Back on the bridge, you find most of the crew there still focusing on their workstations in an effort to avoid catching your eyes. _Really, General Hux should be giving us a raise for boosting productivity._ You reflect, as you return to the Exec Deck.


	4. Chapter 4

_Stars, you're slow._ Commander Ren is still complaining about your walking speed, but after getting away from General Hux, his mental voice sounds much less irritable. He matches three of your paces with one of his; from his viewpoint it probably is uncomfortably slow.

You pause to let a small cluster of Stormtroopers pass in front of you; the Commander makes an impatient noise in his throat that makes them offer unsteady salutes- to both of you, funnily enough- and group a little closer together as they walk off, as if their proximity to each other will prevent any of them from being singled out.

“We can't all be vertically gifted, Commander.” You remark as you begin walking again.

“I don't know how you get anywhere with your little, stumpy legs. It must take you a half hour just to walk to Engineering in the morning.”

_Stumpy?_ You glower at him. You'd always thought that your legs were quite nice. He was right about the walk to Engineering though.

_So sensitive. I'm sure they're adequate, if undersized._

That doesn't exactly make you feel better about them. As for the sensitive comment, that was a laugh, being called sensitive by a man who not twenty minutes ago was hip-deep in a pissing contest with General Hux.

_I won._

_Did you?_ You ask.

_Do you not think so?_

_I think that you were both extremely successful in getting on each other's nerves._

_He was more upset than I was. I won._

The smugness in his mental tone makes it difficult to maintain your irritated look; you find a smile creeping across your features despite yourself, which in turn rewards you with another of those warm feelings of amusement radiating off of him. _You're the one who can read minds. I'll take your word for it._

_Smart girl. Retinal scanner._

You step up to the machine, going through the whole process again, complete with the resultant spots on your retina. This time though, you are directed to the palm reader yourself. Placing your hand flat, you're greeted with a notification saying that security clearance has been granted. There's no time listed now; looks like General Hux wasn't kidding when he said you're relieved from duty until this whole droid mess is concluded. You wonder how long it'll take to apprehend the saboteur. You wonder further if there will be a trial or if they'll just be executed. That train of thought turns into lightsaber, blaster or Force execution.

“That's a morbid line of thinking. There are a few unused quarters on this deck. Do you have a preference?” The Commander asks as you walk down the hall.

_Morbid? You're the one that wants to strangle the life out of the leader of the First Order Navy. Hm, I wonder what Force choking someone even feels like._

_I've encountered Stormtroopers less bloodthirsty than you. Is this behavior typical of droid technicians? I might need to tell Captain Phasma to recruit from Engineering next._

_It's all the ways people break stuff. Puts you in a mood. Droids that have_ _been pushed down stairs. People picking at the cameras on their holoprojectors. People taking their comlink in the shower._ A beat and then you add, _People lightsabering innocent computer terminals._

Commander Ren gives you a look you can feel through his helmet. _If you don't tell me which room you want, I'm putting you in the storage closet._

His tone of thought doesn't really sound as though he'll put you in the storage closet, but you are unwilling to call his bluff. Upon cursory examination, they all seem identical and you tell him as much, leading him to choose for you. He doesn't select the storage closet, although he makes some mild insinuations to that effect. Commander Ren is a man that clearly likes to complain, and you don't take his grumbling much to heart, instead occupying yourself with trying to figure out who lives in which set of quarters.

General Hux is easy, you remember him being roughly halfway down the hall on the port side. There's no marker in front of his. Idly, you imagine him memorizing the exact number of paces from the entrance to his front door, specifically so that he doesn't need to look up from his paperwork while walking home.

You'd be willing to bet credits that the one all the way at the end belongs to Commander Ren; it's as far away from other people and light fixtures as physically possible. You don't know much about Captain Phasma; you've heard from a trooper acquaintance or two that she's something of a hardass but besides that, you don't have anything to go on. Finally, you decide that a door on the starboard side with a crushed patch of carpet in front must be hers, courtesy of the heavy chromium armor.

After those three, your knowledge of First Order command structure runs a bit dry. There's your CO, but Lieutenant Xar doesn't have quarters on the Executive Deck, as far as you know. There's the head of Medical as well, Lieutenant Donato? But you've never seen her outside of her small office in the Medical bay. There's the Supreme Leader, as well. You've heard that he demands living quarters to be prepared for him on every First Order ship, regardless of whether he ever intends to set foot on them. Or wing, or tentacle or what have you. You're not even sure he's human.

While you're otherwise distracted, Commander Ren picks a room for you on the starboard side, nearer to the far end of the corridor. While you'd said it didn't matter, after he picks the room, you're pleased to remember that starboard is the side with the windows. The port side has windows as well, of course, but they're only simulated ones. Once you think on it for a moment, you wonder if he had picked up on that unspoken preference.

The keypad is stiff, the metal gleaming and new, lending credence to the statement that the room has never been used. The buttons click under your fingers as you set your entrance code. Once, then twice, and then the door slides open, revealing the rooms that will be your home for the foreseeable future.

Not quite a copy of General Hux’s, yours is more like a smaller scale replica, minus the bookshelves (and broken droid). Even though it's not as big as the one you were in earlier, the apartment is more spacious than any set of living quarters you've been assigned since you joined the First Order. You could practically do cartwheels; doubly exciting since you're on a Star Destroyer. Big and imposing they may be, but destroyers don't generally have much in the way of creature comforts. Not wanting to look too foolish in front of Commander Ren, you settle for sitting onto your couch with a satisfied sigh instead.

“I'm glad it meets with your approval. I'll send a laundry droid to drop off some off-duty clothing for you to wear.”

The words ‘off duty’ are the ones which remind you that he's your superior. The two of you had been in each other's heads so much in the past few hours that it had very nearly slipped your mind that you weren't exactly friends. You pull yourself back up into a standing rest. “Thank you, sir.”

“Dispense with the ceremony, it's boring. Sit back down.” If the tilt of his head is any indication, his expression is thoughtful. You're getting much better at reading his body language. In fact, you wonder how you'd found him inscrutable initially. He switches back to speaking directly into your mind. _Were you being genuine when you mentioned wanting to calm me down? Or were you simply unsettled by my temper?_

An interesting question. There was an element of fear and discomfort, of course. You'd be surprised if there was anyone on the ship- aside from General Hux, apparently- who was unafraid of the Commander's fury. Aside from that, it hadn't been entirely fear. The impulse to cool his burgeoning rage was tempered in something else, largely compassion. He had seemed so fragile when his control was beginning to slip.

“Did you need calming?”

“You didn't answer the question.”

You suppress an eye roll with difficulty. Like he hadn't already taken the information clear off the top of your mind. His voice modulator makes another crackling static sound, entirely unlike the sigh… Laughter?

_I am your superior, so if you'd feel uncomfortable, I won't take offense. But you are one of the few people on board who isn't consumed with terror by my mere presence. And yes, I could use some calming._

You don't feel uncomfortable; in fact, you feel more at ease around him when you're operating outside of your normal officer-cadet roles. Once he hears as much, he drops his gloves on your coffee table before hooking his fingers under his mask. It gives way with a hiss of breached seals.

Earlier in the day, you'd wondered what he looked like without the mask. Now, you know. As fair-skinned as his hands suggested, he has pitch black hair, longer than most military men generally keep it, and bottomless dark eyes. He's young; perhaps a little older than you, but much younger than you would have expected for someone of his renown. And-

_Void, he's handsome._

He smiles faintly at that, bringing heat to your cheeks. “You caught that one, I'm guessing.”

“As long as they're complimentary thoughts, you can think them as loudly as you like.” He sits besides you on the couch, stretching his long frame across the furniture, leaving his feet and ankles to dangle over the edge as he places his head in your lap. The position is familiar for two people who have known each other for less than a day, but perhaps not too familiar for two people who have been communicating through private telepathy for a significant portion of that day. You don't ask to move him.

You let your fingers card through his hair, wavy, messy and lightly damp with sweat, teasing out the occasional knot. It likely gets tangled under his helmet, because he has several, and you take your time with each one. Those gone, you run your fingertips gently along his scalp, mindful not to scratch him too hard with your nails. The slightest shiver passes down his spine, there and gone so fast, you're unsure if you imagined it. His lips part in a silent exhalation and you can virtually see the tension beginning to melt off of him. You keep it up, and soon enough, his eyes slip closed, his body relaxing against yours as he dozes off.

_Men. Typical._ You think to yourself, more than a little tickled, and more than a little touched as well. You can't imagine that he makes a habit of falling asleep in anyone's lap, given people's reactions to his presence. _Must be lonely._

Asleep, he looks even younger, the worries and cares of his day on a short hiatus from his face. Your eyes memorize him; the thick lashes, shockingly dark against his fair skin as they rest along his cheeks, the heavy brows, the full lips, slightly parted in sleep, the moles that stud his skin in complex constellations. You let the pads of your fingers trace his forehead, smoothing away the one worried furrow that remains and he sighs again, one large hand raising to wrap around your wrist and hold you there.

It's more comfortable than you expected, watching him sleep in your lap. Despite his turbulent emotional weather during waking hours, his sleep is deep and (as far as you can tell) entirely peaceful. You would have pegged him as the type to have nightmares. Eventually, the stress of the day catches up to you, and you ponder the viability of taking a nap yourself. Not wanting to move the Commander when he looks so content for a change, you rest your head against the back of the couch and let sleep take you.

When you wake, his hand is still on your wrist, his calloused thumb rubbing tiny circles into the thin skin. It gives you warm tingles and makes you think of things that are most decidedly not appropriate, given that the man in your lap is one of your superiors. In _fact_ , given that he can read minds, you're pretty firmly in ‘Sexual Harassment 1511b Form’ territory.

“Y/N.” The Commander's voice is deep and husky with sleep; it does nothing to dissuade the warm tingling sensation. “My _head_ is in your _lap_. We have long since moved past 1511b territory. You might as well call me Kylo at this point.”

“You're right. This is First-Degree Fraternization 1617a territory now.”

Kylo holds up one finger for emphasis. “Interesting fact: the only people who can serve me with a 1617a form at this current moment in time are you, General Hux, and Supreme Leader Snoke. I assure you, the Supreme Leader will not. General Hux might. Unless you're planning on reporting me to one of those two people, I think we're fine.”

You're not sure how you would file a report with the Supreme Leader, even if you wanted to. It's not like he has an office.

“The General would be overjoyed to tell you. You'd probably get a promotion just for asking.” Kylo’s voice is sardonic. In contrast to the bite in his voice, his touch is soft as he explores your fingers, wrists, forearms with his hands. “You have an interesting mind.”

“How so?”

“You're not particularly afraid of me, or General Hux. You didn't even get unusually nervous when I mentioned the Supreme Leader. But something like breaking the rules on fraternization scares you.” His eyes open, looking up at yours. “You have one of the most powerful Force users in the galaxy in your arms, but you're anxious about… Paperwork.”

“You're a person.” You respond. “People can be reasoned or negotiated with. You can connect with a person. Rules are impartial, immutable. There's no wiggle room.”

“I'm a monster.” His eyes are closed again, and his voice doesn't change, but something about that statement throbs with sadness.

“Not to me. I actually kind of like you. A little bit.”

He chuckles. “I've noticed. That's what makes you so interesting.” Momentary levity gone, he pins you with his dark gaze again. “I wonder what I would have to do to change your opinion of me.”

That statement gives you pause. “Do you want me to change my opinion of you?”

“No. I like to be liked, of course. I am only human, after all. Even if half the people on the ship think I'm a specter from their own personal idea of hell.” His voice is light, playful even, but the humor doesn't reach his eyes; his smile is a wan imitation of the one before. “I want to be appreciated for who I am. I can be gentle with you, but it doesn't make me a gentle man. I can be kind to you, but it doesn't make me kind.” His fingers trace patterns on your skin. “Were you on the Finalizer for Jakku? When we stormed Tuanul?” When you confirm that you were, Kylo continues. “We destroyed the entire village. Did you know that?” His hands fall still as he looks up at you, studying your face as if checking the emotional weather there.

After long moments, he continues. “We slaughtered the village to a man and then burnt it to the ground. I didn't enjoy it, but I didn't- I _don't_ regret it. The screaming, the smoke, the fear. It was inconsequential, the death throes of some little nothing village that should have known better than to oppose the First Order.”

The matter-of-fact tone he uses sends a chill down your spine. “Why did you want me to know that?”

“You can't take me piecemeal, Y/N. That is why I wanted you to know.” He's up in one fluid movement, the softening influence of sleep gone in the blink of an eye. _I can be good to you, but I'll never be a good man. Don't hold out hope for that. You'll only be disappointed._ He brushes newly gloved (when did he put those on?) fingertips down your cheek, and his mouth twists with a wry smile. _If you can manage that, this fraternization business just might work._


	5. Chapter 5

Day turns into evening. Not that either word has much of a meaning in deep space, but your circadian rhythm is still going strong enough to make you feel as though it is time to begin winding down. The laundry droid that the Commander promised arrives soon after his departure, dropping off quite a bit of clothing. Pants, dresses, shirts, all in standard Order-issue black or grey. _At least it makes laundry easy._

Sometimes, working out here, you feel color starved. Constantly surrounded by glass and metal, black and charcoal and gunmetal and smoke, sometimes white, if there are Stormtroopers nearby, and occasionally a flash of crimson, you feel like a small flower beginning to wilt from lack of sunlight. You haven't had shore leave since you've gotten transferred to this ship, and aren't expecting any, but when this war is over, you're definitely going to visit a tropical planet. Just to see something green. With that resolution bolstering you, you iron and put away your new wardrobe.

While you're busy organizing your new closet, the door chimes again. You weren't expecting anyone else, and the noise makes you slightly uneasy. Half-formed thoughts of spies and blown cover flit through your mind before the door opens to admit a small droid. He's carrying food, nothing fancy, just prepackaged heat and eat meals. It seems as though you won't be able to go down to the mess either while this is going on. You've never been the most sociable woman on board, but you do wonder if you'll turn into a crazed hermit by the time this investigation is over.

“Thank you.” You kneel to take the packages from the droid- they're black as well, with white descriptive text of the meal inside. The First Order _commits_ to its aesthetic- and it beeps cheerfully at you. Your Binary isn't excellent, but you're relatively certain that it wishes you a nice day before turning and rolling out of your door. _I could always learn Binary to keep myself busy._ The idea isn't riveting, but better than nothing.

You decide to organize the kitchen to your specifications, putting away the food and rearranging pots and pans to make your kitchen look less empty. That completed to your satisfaction, you sit down for a quick meal, more because it'll give you something to do than out of actual hunger. You settle on dried kelp strips, largely because you are entirely unfamiliar with the contents of most of the packages. _Is this what the officers usually eat?_ You've never worried about being uncultured before, but some of the dishes are way more exotic than you were expecting. 

While you're busy washing the resultant dishes, the reason behind your vaguely melancholy and restless mood finally hits you. With your thoughts being solely your own again, everything feels too quiet. It's like being in a house after the holidays are over and the visitors have left.

Maybe having your own quarters isn't all it's cracked up to be. At least in the dorms, you're not stuck with your own thoughts. Although, prior to today, you'd never minded being alone in your head. Realizing that your thoughts have shifted, however tangentially to Commander Ren again, you shake your head to clear it. You pick up your work datapad, unlock it, lock it, unlock it again. A notification pops up on the screen gently admonishing you for wasting battery power. 'Please remember to keep the screen locked when not in use!' It reads. 'The First Order is relying on **you** to curb energy wastage!'

_I wish I had something to do. Something to fix. Someone to talk to._ You muse, looking fruitlessly around your living room for inspiration. Like a reminder from the Force about being careful what you wish for, your work comlink begins to beep.

Tapping it twice with a fingertip, you're rewarded with General Hux’s voice. “Cadet. I trust I'm not interrupting anything?” Well, he's not the person you _wanted_ to talk to, but at least you can do something other than mope around like a lovesick schoolgirl.

“No sir.” You confirm. “What can I do for you?” _Hopefully it doesn't have anything to do with a rogue droid._

“Your things are still in my quarters. I wondered if you could come to collect them. Now.” That's not exactly a request. Phrased like one, yes, but the addition of the word ‘now’ rather ruins the illusion of choice. Then again, he is one of the top ranking men in the Order. The fact that he's even offering you the illusion of choice is something of a compliment.

The redheaded man is standing in his doorway, still occupied with his apparently ever present datapad when you exit into the hallway. You wonder if he takes it into the refresher with him. You then wonder why your brain works the way it does, as that was a mental image you could do without.

He gives no outward indication of impatience, no exasperated sighs, clenched hands or tapping toes, but manages to exude an air of it anyway. You're not sure how he accomplishes this; his posture is as flawless as you've always seen it, and his expression is, if anything, less annoyed than it was when you saw him last. Maybe you're reading too deeply into things.

Although you are quite certain General Hux hears you approach, he doesn't acknowledge your presence until you're physically in front of him. “Cadet.” Down on the bridge, his eyes were grey like rain; up here, they're more blue. They meet yours for an instant before flickering up and over your shoulder, and then back again. “No Commander Ren to accompany you this time, I see.” His screen makes a soft clicking noise as he turns it off.

“No, sir.” Were you supposed to bring him? You review your First Order protocol training, trying to remember whether you've breached it some way.

It seems that you're overthinking again, as the General turns with no further commentary, holding the door sensor open with one hand. “After you.”

The rooms feel different now that you know they belong to General Hux. You can see his minimalist influence over everything, feel the cold precision he brings to every aspect of his work. Even the bookcase is stuffed full of tomes on military strategy. How did you miss that before? Your powers of observation must have been lacking this morning.

Your things are where you left them. That is to say, in the middle of his bedroom floor. Filling in the blanks, you realize he had only recently come in from work to discover a mess in his orderly bedroom. You suppose you can understand the mildly inconvenienced voice in that case. You pack up your kit quickly, an easy feat considering you hadn't unpacked much besides the clamps, and those are small. You hesitate on placing the droid parts in with everything else, and the General, seeing your reluctance, is quick to respond to your unspoken query. “Permission to speak granted, Cadet.”

“I just wonder if removing these parts is technically tampering with evidence, sir.”

“I wonder if leaving them there is technically insubordination.” He offers you another of those not-very-nice smiles, the kind that subtracts warmth from the room, instead of adding to it.

_Point taken._

Seeing that you look sufficiently cowed, General Hux continues. “As Commander Ren is the one leading the investigation, I doubt it would be treated as evidence tampering. He's already confirmed that you are not a suspect, after all.” There's a sneer in his voice when he continues. “I rather think he'd forgive you for it, in any case.”

_That's definitely some kind of insult, but damned if I can figure out what it is, or whether it's aimed at me or Kylo. The dynamic between the two of them is **so** weird._

“As you say, sir.” You've become more comfortable with the idea of arguing with Kylo, but you're not about to go there with General Hux. You like your job (and not being reconditioned) too much. Despite your misgivings, you carefully wrap both parts and stow them in your bag for safekeeping.

“Quite.” The odd tone isn't gone, but it definitely diminishes, now that you're doing what he wants you to. As he escorts you back to the front door, he speaks again. “I've spoken to Lieutenant Xar about the investigation. It seems I owe you a debt of gratitude for your diligence, Cadet. It will be remembered.”

“It's a pleasure to serve the First Order, General.”

“Yes. And Cadet, when Commander Ren returns to your quarters later, _do_ ask him to check his holos.”

The sensation of being a pawn in some grand, overarching chess game intensifies, though whether you are one of Hux’s pieces or Ren’s, you cannot say.


	6. Chapter 6

It's late when your door slides open, but you don't panic. It feels like Kylo somehow; you can sense waves of frustration emanating from him through the walls. Reluctantly, you force yourself out of your sinfully comfortable bed. Chillbumps breaking out across your skin, you grab a loose robe that the laundry droid delivered earlier, swing it around your frame and exit the bedroom.

It's not significantly warmer in the living room, but you forget to care when you spot Kylo combing through his hair with rough fingers. His helmet rests discarded on the coffee table, along with his gloves. He turns when you come in, taking quick stock of your less than composed appearance. “You weren't asleep, so I assumed it would be all right to come in. Is now a bad time?”

“It's fine.” Standing on tiptoes, you disentangle his hands from his hair. “You're ripping your own hair out, Kylo. What's wrong?”

“Droid issues. A different one. It'll grow back.” The words are dismissive, but his body language proves them a lie as he places a hand on your back, steadying you while you detangle the messy raven locks for the second time that day. He's blissfully warm, and you are grateful for the contact, almost wishing you could use him as a space heater. You move a little closer to him, an unspoken request for permission and his hand curls around your hip. Pressed against him, you are a comfortable temperature for the first time since the vent rumbled to life a few hours ago.

“Are you going to tell me about these droid issues?” You prompt.

“They're not relevant.”

When he doesn't elaborate further, you speak again. “I'm making conversation with you, Kylo.” The man is clearly socially stunted; unsurprising given his position, and you decide to take pity on him by clarifying your intentions. “That's what people do when they like each other. They talk.” Your fingers catch on a particularly nasty knot- what was he doing, acrobatics?- and you focus on that instead, teasing it loose. “General Hux wants you to check your holos, by the way.” You murmur, as you finish.

His hand tightens on your hip _hard_ , but he doesn't seem to notice your pain. “ _What?_ ”

Baffled by his reaction, you raise an eyebrow at the obviously flustered Commander. “I spoke to him a few hours ago. He called me to get my things from his room. As I was leaving, he-”

A dull ache in your head cuts off your words as Kylo’s physical fingers dig into your waist and his mental fingers reach into your mind. _That slimy bastard._ There's a growl in his mental voice that worries you as he pulls away, snatching his datapad and storming into your bedroom. A second later and the lock clicks, leaving you with the realization that you've been locked out of your _own bedroom_. Rude.

Well, sleep certainly wasn't coming any nearer now, courtesy of a certain Force wielder you could mention, so you decide to make some tea for yourself and for him. On your home planet, tea was usually the default response to rough days at work, school, bad job interviews, heartbreak. Today definitely falls under the first category, for both of you, it seems.

As you raise yourself on tiptoes to snag the sugar from one of the cabinets, your hip bumps the countertop. It throbs, more painful than the light touch should have been and you hike your robe up with a concerned frown. It seems that hard was an understatement; your skin is already showing the sign of a hand-shaped bruise, delicate lavender that will only darken over the next few hours. _Ouch_.

As you bring the tea and various accoutrements from the kitchen, you notice that Kylo has returned and seated himself on the couch, face like thunder, though the clouds part somewhat when he sees you. “Kylo, what was that all about?”

He winces at your tone, although you didn't think it was that harsh. “It's about the General trying to claim that we're romantically involved.”

_Oh, was that the implication?_ You wonder, recalling your conversation with the other man earlier. You ponder whether you should be offended that Kylo was _that_ upset about being romantically linked to you. Ultimately, you decide to give him a pass and you offer a half shrug instead. “I'm sorry, am I missing something? We had an entire conversation about the viability of us carrying on a workplace relationship. You said earlier that you weren't concerned about the fraternization paperwork.”

“I'm _not_. That's not the issue.” His voice is impatient, as though you're purposefully being dense.

You force yourself to stay calm, knowing that getting upset will only fuel his agitation. “Okay, so tell me.” You spread your arms wide, as if to say _what now_? “If it's not about a fraternization charge, then what is the General trying to accomplish?”

“It's not only about that. That's relatively unimportant. The thing that's bothering me-” Kylo scowls, the look so black that you instinctively shrink away. As soon as he notices your reaction, he softens his expression. It's not perfect; stormclouds still heavy on his brow, but it's enough. “The holo he sent me was time-sensitive. It transmits the moment you open it to the sender.”

You're beginning to put a picture together. “General Hux knows you took a long time to play it. Is that the problem?”

“Close, but not exactly.” Now that you're beginning to understand the predicament, his words come faster and more enthusiastically, a teacher with an apt pupil. “He sent it right after I brought you to your room and I didn't see it because we were busy… Fraternizing.” That makes it sound much more scandalous than it actually was, considering all you did was take a nap, and you say as much. He waves you off. “In fact, I didn't open it until after I got back here a few minutes ago. And he sent that time data to the Supreme Leader.”

_Oh._

_**Exactly**._

“The implication is… What?” You ask, taking a seat next to him. Pressing a cup of tea into his grasp, you run your hand along his shoulders, feeling his tension finally begin to abate. He leans into the affectionate touch, the frustrated air that permeated the room continuing to ebb away as you project calming thoughts as best you can. “That I'm distracting you from work?”

“Not quite. It's more subtle than that.” He thinks over how to phrase his next words. “He didn't ask you to relay the message when you saw me. He specifically said for you to tell me when I returned to your quarters. There's a lot of implication there.”

Now that you think on it, you suppose there is. You hadn't caught that one.

“That's not all. By making you be the one to remind me to check the message, Hux makes it look like I'm distracting myself, and you're trying to get me to do work. It makes things look one-sided.”

“Which brings us back to 1511b territory.”

“Among other, worse things. Now you're getting it.” Kylo drains the rest of his cup at a swallow, then rests his head in your lap again, closing his eyes. “Devious bastard.”

“I just won't file the form. It's not sexual harassment if I'm not complaining about it.”

“You don't have to file. Your commanding officer can do it for you.”

“Lieutenant Xar wouldn't, if I asked him not to.”

“You haven't checked your messages either, have you?” Your breath catches in your throat and he chuckles.

Leaning forward, you grab your datapad from the table, fingers flying over the touchscreen as you enter your passcode. You open your message inbox to find one from General Hux, timestamped roughly twelve hours ago. It's short, to the point and in light of your conversation with Kylo, makes a knot tie itself in your stomach.

‘Due to her vital role as technical advisor in an ongoing investigation,’ it reads, ‘Cadet F/N L/N has been indefinitely removed from the Engineering department. Her new designation is as follows: Title: Officer Cadet; Department: Administrative; Commanding Officer: General Armitage Hux; Security Clearance: Green. Thank you for your attention.’

_Kylo wasn't kidding when he called the man devious._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, General Hux has his read receipts on. Always.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry all! Work got in the way of writing pursuits.

“Where does this leave us now?” Really, you have an inkling. Better to strangle this strange relationship while it's still in its infancy; you'll keep your hands to yourself, he'll keep his Force powers out of your mind, and you'll both go back to the way things were, circa yesterday. The thought makes you feel strangely lonely, which is patently ridiculous- he's not your boyfriend. You haven't even _kissed_ yet. _Woman up_ , you tell yourself sternly.

Kylo- still draped across your lap, eyes closed, now looking like he doesn't have a care in the galaxy- smirks. “You have an interesting relationship timeline.”

Déjà vu, as you recall the last time he called something about your mind interesting. Maybe feeling it too, his hands come up over his head to catch yours again; to trace light patterns over the skin with his fingertips like he did earlier.

“How so?”

“I've been inside your mind almost the entire day. But somehow, that is _less_ intimate to you than…” Kylo lifts your palm to his mouth, places a gentle kiss there.

Your first kiss was when you were seventeen. You'd lied to your parents about going to the mall with a bunch of female friends, and had instead met up with your ‘boyfriend’, a marginally older guy who went to a different school. Your parents wouldn't have approved; they were the kind of people who didn't want you to date until you were married. That's what made it even more fun; holding on to his arm as you walked around the mall gave you a frisson of guilt mixed with longing that was unparalleled. When he'd finally made his move later that day (the mall was too full, so he'd taken you for a walk around the parking garage; ah, young love), you'd thought that nothing could compare to the feeling that his mouth on yours left behind. A sparkly lightness that left you on air, but with a molten core of heat in the pit of your stomach.

Kylo’s lips against your palm, arguably more chaste even than that first one, brought you back to that feeling again.

You let out a breath you weren't aware you were holding. “You're in people's minds all the time.” The thin barriers of propriety begin to crumble; you allow your fingers to trace his eyelashes, stroke his cheekbone, follow the line of his nose. To learn him, in a more-than-platonic way.

“I'm not.” His hand wraps around your wrist again; he pulls your hand to his lips, kisses each of your fingertips, your knuckles, your palm again. “I take the information I need and then go.” He murmurs against your palm. “I don't linger. Strictly surface level.” Catching a half formed thought of yours, he narrows his eyes at you. The effect is significantly lessened when you pass your fingers over his brows, smoothing the hair there and he allows his eyes to close again. “What, do you think I _like_ hearing people think about how they're constipated, their back hurts, their blaster is jammed, they're late with an important document and hoping they aren't going to be fired? I don't.”

“I'll be sure not to think about any of that around you, then.”

“It's not like that.” He pushes himself up to a sitting position and turns to you. Tentatively, as though you are some skittish animal, he brushes a stray wisp of hair from your face. He hesitates, reading your expression before allowing his hand to rest on your jaw. “Being inside your head is different. I enjoy it.”

His hand slides from your jaw to the back of your neck, light pressure urging you forward. _I enjoy all of this._ His voice is uncharacteristically soft as he leans in to touch his lips to yours.

It would have been unthinkable yesterday; would have been a surprise a few hours ago; now, it feels right. His fingers dig into the soft, fine hair at the nape of your neck while his other hand trails down your body, finding your hip (the bruised one; his palm skates over the mark as though in mute apology) and pulling you closer, until you can feel his breath, his pulse, until the boundaries of where he ends and you begin start to blur.

There's an ache in your chest, a yearning as you pull away. A desire to tuck your head under his chin and stay there, workplace regulations and General Hux be damned. “This isn't going to be easy, is it?” Your voice teeters on the edge of a whine and it amuses him.

“Easy in comparison to what? If you're comparing it to dating a Stormtrooper or some mediocre junior officer, no. If you're comparing it to… Oh, I don't know, dating a Resistance pilot, it's practically a cakewalk.”

“Thanks for that oh-so-vital bit of perspective, Commander. It really helps.”

“You're _so_ welcome, Cadet.” Kylo takes your heavy sarcasm in stride, returning it right back to you. “Glad I could be of assistance.” Before you say anything further, he lifts your chin back up, leaning close once more. He studies you again for a another moment, reading the look in your eyes before he kisses you, more insistent this time. As tender and exploratory the first one was, this one is more forceful, with teeth that test your bottom lip and the warm press of his tongue into your mouth.

Right as the butterflies in your stomach get to be a little too intense and your mind shifts to less innocent thoughts, he pulls away.

“We'll have to be discreet.” The dark haired man’s voice is pensive. “As discreet as we can be, anyway.”

“Because of the General?”

“In part. He's planning something, and knowing him, it'll be nasty.” A momentary frown passes over his face, a remnant of the stormclouds from earlier. “He's not my main concern; I'm confident I can out think him. No, my worry is that being linked too closely with me can put a different kind of target on your back.” He chops off that train of thought, flatly refusing to elaborate when you push. “Later.”

Seeing that you won't get anything else out of him on that topic, you switch tactics. “Discretion shouldn't be too difficult, considering I'm basically on house arrest. How long am I supposed to be here?”

“Ask your commanding officer.”

You give him the filthiest look you can muster, but it is ineffective. “You know he threatened me with insubordination for not wanting to take those droid parts away? The ones that are involved in an active investigation?”

“Only threatened? He must like you.”

His voice is serious enough that it gives you pause and you squint at him, unsure whether he's being sincere, or if this is another glimpse of the dry side of his humor. “Don't be gross.”

“If you run with it, it could be a good career move.”

“ _Kylo_.” The thought is more than unsettling; half the Order would assume you were just angling for a promotion and the other half would want you to get General Hux to give them a promotion. Unethical _and_ gross.

Your indignation is what makes him crack; what bubbles from his throat is not just a quickly stifled chuckle, but full-fledged laughter. Kylo Ren looks and sounds like a completely different person when he laughs. The shadowed, half-haunted look leaves his eyes; color comes to his cheeks. He looks like the young man he is, instead of the ominous harbinger of destruction the rest of the galaxy sees. All at once, you are unexpectedly touched, the same way you were when he fell asleep on you earlier; the same way seeing the burn mark on his hand gave you a strange reminder of his mortality. _It makes him human_.

His next words break into your thoughts. “You're not on house arrest. Stop being so dramatic.” Humor still flavors his voice, lingers around the corners of his mouth. Seeing your less than impressed expression, he adds, “You're not trapped in this room. You just need to be escorted when you leave. We don't want a Resistance agent or a rogue Stormtrooper to find out who foiled their plot and go looking for payback.”

You can't keep the skepticism out of your voice. “Rogue Stormtroopers don't exist. They've been trained since they were infants.”

“That's almost exactly what General Hux said the last time we had a rogue Stormtrooper. Impressive. Must be why he likes you.”

You ignore that last remark. “We've had a _rogue Stormtrooper_?”

Kylo reaches over and closes your mouth for you. “You'll draw doppleflies. Yes. Just one that we know of, though it opens the door for more to appear. I can't give you more information than that. Security clearance.”

You sulk for an instant before a thought occurs to you. “Can't you change my security clearance?”

“I'm seeing that the word ‘discreet’ means very little to you.” When your expectant look doesn't change, he exhales heavily and elaborates. “Yes, I can change it. What will happen is that your commanding officer, who might I remind you is across the hall right now, will get a notification showing who changed it and when.”

You begin to speak, but Kylo holds up a hand to silence you. “I suspect one of two things will happen next. Either he will personally come to investigate why I've overridden your security clearance at-” He checks his datapad for the time. “-1:23 in the morning, or (this is the more likely one), he will call a public meeting at beginning of shift today to ask both of us why I overrode your security clearance. At 1:23 in the morning. It will be as uncomfortable as he can make it. He won't be able to get the Supreme Leader to join, but he'll try.”

“Sounds awkward.”

“Yes.”

The silence spins itself out while you think over the possibilities. “Can't you use the Force to make him change it?” Kylo blinks slowly at you, and you elaborate. “You know, the mind trick thing. Where you wave your hand and make people do stuff.”

He covers his eyes with a palm. “Let me clarify. You, Miss ‘Oh No I Am Fraternizing With A Superior Officer’, are requesting that I mentally coerce one of the leaders of the First Order into giving you enhanced security clearance above and beyond what your job would _ever_ entail for no concrete reason aside from satisfying your own personal wants and wishes. Am I getting this right?”

You shrug, unrepentant. “I'm really curious about the Stormtrooper.”

Yes, Kylo Ren looks like a different person when he laughs, and to be honest, you enjoy it.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! It's been a while. I've had quite a bit going on (death in the family, workplace woes, etc.) but I'm back in the saddle again, so to speak. I don't quite know where I'm going with this story yet, but it's nice to write again. As always, thanks for reading, and I hope you like it :)

As it turns out, you don't end up getting the increase to your security clearance that you requested. What you do get when you wake up is an uncomfortably quiet apartment and a backache. You'd fallen asleep on the couch, you recall. Kylo had offered to move you, but you were comfortable enough, or so you claimed. You have some regrets now though.

Stretching to work the kinks out of your muscles, you ponder whether you need an escort to go to the gym as well. _Certainly the Exec Deck has to have its own?_

You're at somewhat of a loss. If you _do_ need an escort and you leave without one, best case scenario is that Kylo will be moderately annoyed with you. If you don't, but you ask for one anyway, you'll end up irritating your CO. You can imagine the tone of polite exasperation he'll manage to convey through his body language then.

Pulling your datapad to you- it flashes a low battery warning at you, the amber light like a baleful eye- you unlock the screen and browse through your files, hunting for the map you were given when you first came to the Finalizer. Given the size of the thing, no one expected new technicians to be able to find their way around without some kind of guidance system. You'd heard that newly minted officers didn't get the map, instead having to rely on their ‘interpersonal skills’ to navigate. Briefly, you allow yourself to dwell on the mental image of a young General Hux, lost on the Finalizer. It tickles you.

If the map is accurate, the fitness center (of course, other ships might have a gym, but the Finalizer would never be so gauche) should be a quick walk, connected to the deck by a short service hallway. _It's practically in my living room._  You rationalize. _And you'd need Executive Deck clearance to get in that hallway anyway. It's probably fine._

After a quick change into workout attire, you grab your datapad, pull up the map and head for the fitness center.

The hall is every bit as deserted and silent as you have become accustomed to it being. Your initial thought upon hearing of your new living arrangements was that it would be relaxing; in the dorms for low ranking employees, there was always chatter. Since the ship operated on a shift basis, there was never a moment where people weren't getting ready for work or coming home, talking to their roommates, their friends, their dates, gossiping, arguing, fighting on occasion. Singing, laughing, yelling. Your roommates were both very attractive women, who both liked to date around. You wouldn't have minded, if it hadn't meant that they usually ended up bringing their dates back to your shared room.

“Sorry, Y/N!” They'd always tell you. “We won't mind if you bring a date over too!” They'd offer, in an attempt to make you feel better. You never did, although there were times when you were tempted to grab the grossest trooper you could find and have him in there for half the day just to make a point.

In practice, instead of being relaxing, the lack of sound was beginning to get to you. It put a subtle edge to your mood, made you just slightly uncomfortable every time you registered it. And register, you did. Some quiet could fade into the background; this was the stifling sound of silence that demanded attention. It didn't help that Commander Ren was nowhere near, and now your mind was too quiet as well.

Still lost in thought, you hang a left into the service hallway when the datapad indicates, the door shutting behind you with a click that seems very loud. The gravity generator must be hidden behind this section of wall, because the faint thrum intensifies, drowning out your pulse and rattling in your ears.

There are more doors than the map indicated; unsure of which is the correct one (you have an idea that it should be on the right, but can't be certain) you pull up your datapad again. This time, all that happens is the amber battery light when you press the power button. “Shit.”

Staring at the doors in front of you, you ponder your options. You _could_ go back to your quarters and charge the datapad of course, but you can't be bothered. You reach for the first door, and it opens to reveal a storage closet. Pillows, linens, soap. You step back and allow the door to slide shut again. The next door leads to a short, dark hallway. You can't remember whether the fitness center was connected directly to the hall or whether the map showed it down another hallway.

Chewing on your lower lip, you peer into the hall, but you see nothing of note save a nondescript door at the other end. _Well, if it's not the right hallway, I can always double back._ You step into the hallway, and soon the door slides shut behind you, plunging you into darkness.

The hall is short enough that you reach the end in three long strides; a taller person might have done it in two. The door doesn't respond to your presence and you squint at it, trying to peer at the sensor through the gloom. You're a droid technician, not a facilities one, but there's some crossover in your job. If it's merely a misaligned sensor, you might be able to adjust it. You fumble near where you recall the sensor being, but you feel nothing out of place and the door doesn't budge.

 _This is more exercise than I really wanted._ You grumble to yourself. Resigning yourself to being stuck in your room until the datapad charges, you turn and head back to the other door. Which is locked.

Your fingers tap the manual release once, twice, but the door only blinks the flashing red ‘access denied’ LED and remains stubbornly closed. Complaining and muttering under your breath, you mash your index finger into the button, holding it down for a hard reset.

It doesn't work and for the first time, you feel a genuine sense of unease, creeping along your skin like insects. _Service doorways aren't supposed to lock like this._

The gravity generator in the next hallway begins to cycle again, highlighting your predicament. Between the humming of the generator and the soundproofing on the Exec Deck proper, you're not sure anyone would hear you if you called. Though you're still hoping it doesn't come to that; regardless of whoever rescues you, both General Hux _and_ Commander Ren are certain to hear about it, which would be… Embarrassing, to say the least.

You stride to the other end of the hall and try the manual release on that door, but it doesn't help. While the first door at least responds with a red light, the other one is smoothly and completely dead. “All right. Plans A and B didn't pan out. What's Plan C?” You ask yourself, nibbling on your lower lip thoughtfully as you survey the small hallway.

Your eyes adjusting to the gloom, you notice the handle of a trap door glowing faintly near your ankle. _Must be a maintenance shaft_. Not seeing any better options, you pull the handle, opening the door. It squeals in complaint, forcing you to grit your teeth and really put your back into it. Fortunately for your arms and shoulders, you're fairly small, and are able to slip inside once it's a little less than half open.

The rungs on the ladder leading down are cold and slick and you have to tuck your datapad under your arm to use both hands to stabilize yourself. It drops you into another maintenance hallway, this one seemingly running parallel and beneath the Exec Deck. 

It's a tight fit for you and would be impossible for anyone bigger. Clearly it's intended for maintenance droids and similar. The hatches for the droids are too small for you to fit into though. Unfortunate, as you could have potentially resurfaced right near your quarters, hopefully avoiding the need to be rescued from the hallway above. 

 _Oh well._ Grabbing onto the ladder again, you begin the climb to the hall above, stopping midway through when you hear voices coming from the area.

“The Order is investigating the droid.” An unfamiliar woman’s voice speaks. “Our assassin was sloppy. They left a cable behind.”

“Was it the General who found it?” The other voice is no less foreign to you, but remarkable in its very nondescript nature. It could be male or female, young or old. It doesn't even have any emotional inflection, or an accent to the words. _Voice modulator?_ You ponder.

“A droid technician.”

“One of ours?”

“No.” The woman's voice is clipped short. “All of ours knew the plan.”

“Have you attempted to recruit this one?”

“It's too late now.” She snaps. “The first thing she did was sound an alarm. Now the Order has her under lock and key. General Hux has removed her from duty. We can't get her alone.”

“If she has been removed from duty, then she will not be able to interfere with any of the other altered droids. See to it that they're more careful in the future.”

“So you mean to proceed? The Order will be watching the droids. We can't get to Hux or Ren that way.”

“Have faith, Resmi. We knew it wouldn't be easy to kill General Hux on his own ship.”

The sound of the door opening and sliding shut again reminds you to breathe. Swallowing hard, you allow your head to rest on the rung above you as you ponder everything you've just heard. _I'm going to have to have another meeting with General Hux, aren't I?_


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did a little bit of plotting to figure out where I'd like the story to go. There will be some pretty prominent canon divergence later on; I'll update tags and post a warning when I get there.

You hang off of the ladder for at least another twenty minutes, waiting to see if either person would return. You would have waited longer, but your fingers were starting to cramp; by the time you stumble through the now unlocked door into the Executive Deck proper, they're frozen into claws, the pattern of the metal rungs a livid stamp on both palms.

Although you know you should technically be reporting directly to your CO, the thought of having to request a private audience with General Hux sans Kylo makes you queasy. Which is why once you're safely in your room (with the manual lock engaged; no one is getting in without your say so), the first thing you do is call Kylo.

His frequency is pre-programmed into your comlink; if you'd stopped to think about it you would have wondered when and how he'd put it in there himself, but you don't. Instead, you toss the device onto your bed with an impatient little growl when he fails to pick up.

You plug your datapad in and head into the kitchen for another cup of tea to soothe your jangled nerves. While sipping the steaming liquid, a thought occurs to you. _He's always saying I think loudly anyway…_

Calling for someone with your mind is a new sensation. The frustrating thing is that you can't be sure whether Kylo heard, and when he doesn't respond right away, you begin to mentally steel yourself for another uncomfortable meeting with General Hux. Right as you're picking up your comlink to call him, a familiar voice speaks inside your head. _Why were you shouting?_

_I needed you._

_So I gathered._ The touch of his mind is cautious, tense like a spring wound too tightly. _What happened?_

_Can you come to my room?_

_I'm already outside._ A touch of irritation bleeds into his mental voice. _Your door is locked._

He's glowering when you open the door for him; his helmet is still on but you're sensitive enough to his moods that you don't need to see his face to know the look he's wearing. One peek at your anxious expression though, and the crabbiness of his aura is swiftly replaced with concern.

“What happened?” Even through the modulator, his voice thrums with emotion. Kylo, impetuous as ever, doesn't actually give you time to vocalize a response, gloved hand flitting to your temple while he pushes his way into your mind. He is not gentle, and you flinch away. This time, it makes him pause, makes him press feelings of guilt and remorse into you while his other arm snakes around your waist, holding you against him.

His mental touch is more careful the next time but it takes longer, long enough that you begin to think that it would have been more expedient if he'd just let you _talk-_

“I'm not stopping you from talking.”

“Have _you_ ever tried holding a conversation while someone is rifling through your head like the clearance bin at an estate sale?”

“I'm being as gentle as I can!” His temper flares and a lightning bolt of pain passes through your skull; you cringe and just as quickly, his anger is gone; flash-in-the-pan, mercurial. “And referring to your brain as a clearance bin seems unnecessarily defeatist.” His fingers curl into a momentary fist; he lingers in the air for an instant before placing his hand on the back of your neck.

_I'm sorry_ and _I didn't mean to_ and _Forgive me?_ filter into your mind, borne on the soft press of his fingertips.

“It's okay. I'm not badly hurt.” You reassure him and his mind whispers _relief_ and his hand relaxes, thumb stroking the nape of your neck.

“You'll need to meet with Hux about this.” Kylo muses, still idly smoothing the fine hair of your nape. It catches on the leather of his gloves in a way that makes you shiver, almost distracts you from his statement.

“You mean we, surely?” His hand stills and your stomach twists. “You can't leave me alone for this, Kylo! I'm a _droid technician,_ I can't just call a meeting with the leader of the First Order military!”

“You can, and you will. He's not just the leader of the military, he's also your direct superior. One you've met with twice before. Once in private, in his personal quarters, I might add. There's nothing for you to feel nervous about.” His voice straddles the line between soothing and patronizing. “Besides, he likes you.”

“He doesn't like anybody, Kylo. He probably doesn't even like himself half the time.” You sigh and then admit, “I'm worried that I'll let something slip. About us. That's why I want you there to do the talking.”

Amazingly, that seems to strike him as funny, if the noises his modulator makes are anything to go off of. “There it is again. Telling General Hux that you've accidentally overheard evidence of a far-reaching plot to assassinate him and other members of the First Order is no problem. Piece of cake. Who'd be worried about that conversation? Telling him that you're fraternizing with a superior officer, now that's the scary part.”

“Of course that's the scary part!” You protest. “I'm not the one trying to kill anyone, why would I be worried about telling him that?”

“I assure you, once you tell him that you have more information on our possible assassin, anything else he's concerned with will take a distant back seat.” You're doubtful of that, and Kylo must see or feel it because his fingers dig just a little deeper into your skin, teasing tension from your back. “I have a meeting with _my_ direct superior in less than ten minutes. I cannot accompany you.”

Seeing the hurt look in your eyes, Kylo pulls off his helmet, dropping it to the couch with nary a second thought. His expression is grim. “It's death to ignore a summons from the Supreme Leader. Even for me. Especially for me. I can't do this with you.” His gloved hands cup your face. Anticipating your next question, he continued, “And information this critical can't wait for me to finish my meeting. It has to be you, Y/N.”

He's radiating calmness, projecting it. The irony of Kylo telling someone else to relax isn't wasted on you, but you're not in a mood for humor at the moment. “I hate this,” you mumble, turning your face away. “I never wanted-”

“This much attention? I know.” Kylo smiles, but it's sardonic instead of amused. “This is what it feels like to be indispensable. Fun, isn't it?”

“I can't wait until I can go back to being just a number."

When Kylo kisses you goodbye, his mind sussurates _pity_ , you can taste _doubt_ on his lips. _I'm not sure being just a number is in the cards for you anymore._


	10. Chapter 10

Kylo gave you instructions on accessing security footage; at his advice, you download the relevant block of time to your datapad, as well as a few minutes on either end. You can't access the security logs; the screen that appears when you make the attempt informs you that you'd need a red security clearance, and yours is only green. You hope the security footage will be enough.

Picking your comlink back up from the bed, you take a deep breath as you call General Hux. _Just think, a few days ago I didn't think I'd even be within speaking distance of him, and now I have his private call code. What's next, the Supreme Leader greeting me by name?_ A chill runs down your spine at that thought; you quickly banish it.

“Yes, Cadet L/N.” The General picks up on the first ring, and it rattles you.

“General Hux, sir!” You forcibly struggle through your sudden tongue tie. “Um, permission to meet with you at your earliest convenience, sir? I have some important data to discuss.”

The silence he conveys over the com is surprised, but not angry or displeased; it gives you some measure of relief. _How does he manage that anyway? Is it his breathing? Heart rate? Pheromones?_ An even stranger thought occurs to you. _What if General Hux is Force Sensitive like Kylo, and that's how I'm picking up on his feelings?_

The idea is so asinine, yet compelling, that you nearly miss his response. “Of course, Cadet. I'll be on the bridge until 1500. Meet me here at _your_ earliest convenience.”

That means now. You don't have much in the way of clean uniforms, but you hurry to change into one of the appropriate sets of off duty clothes, changing your hair from your sloppy workout ponytail into the sleekest bun you can manage in the given time frame. It's not quite as sharp as you would have liked, but you are technically off duty, and he did say ‘earliest’. At least you're not going in yoga pants.

If you were a bit taller, a bit more imposing, a bit more confident- a bit more Kylo, in short- walking onto the bridge in your off duty clothes might be a power move. As it is, you just feel underdressed, though General Hux does not seem to care. He certainly _notices_ ; cool grey eyes scanning your form minutely as you approach. From another man, you might have misinterpreted the scrutiny as interest; from the General, not a chance. The thought is very nearly humorous, albeit unnerving.

He's apparently in the middle of something, flanked on either side by a pair of Lieutenant Generals that you don't recognize. Not that that's unusual; you are a Cadet, after all. Lowest officer rank in the First Order, and the glares the you were being shot from the pair of them reminded you of it. _Stars, I wish Kylo were here._

They're both holding datapads in an aggressive fashion; you spot the telltale red heading of a requisitions form on one screen. No wonder they're less than pleased to see you; they're asking General Hux for funding, and you're interrupting. You wonder if either of them might be overseeing Engineering; Lieutenant Xar had mentioned needing to send requisitions forms out more than once to ask for replacements of equipment Kylo had trashed.

_Well, sucks to be them. I might only be a Cadet, but this info is pretty damn important. They'll have to beg for money later._

“General Hux, sir.” You salute the redhead first, before acknowledging the other two. “And… Lieutenant, Lieutenant.”

“Cadet, I'm sure you haven't noticed, but we're discussing something far, far above your pay grade.” The left Lieutenant, a dark haired man with eyes like a shark is the first to address you. He's tall, taller than the General, maybe even taller than the Commander. “Whatever it is, it'll have to wait. Go talk to your CO.” When you don't move, his face flushes an angry shade of red. “Dismissed, Cadet.”

General Hux doesn't frown, not exactly. What he does is fix the taller man with a steely glare that roots him to the spot. You'd compared his eyes to rain before, but here, now, they are late November ice- the kind that builds up on the pavement after too many consecutive winter storms. “ _Lieutenant._ ”

General Hux's tone cuts through the chatter like a razor through silk; the nervous silence that falls over the bridge is beyond swift- instantaneous. The other Lieutenant, portly and unassuming, grimaces, catching your eye and scowling like it's somehow _your_ fault that his partner incurred General Hux’s wrath. From the corner of your eye, you notice a group of communications officers trying to stealthily peek at the four of you. Bold move, that. Personally you wouldn't want to run the risk of attracting the redhead’s attention, not when he's using that voice.

“I _am_ her CO. That is why she is here. She is most certainly not dismissed.” Both of the other men attempt to make apologies- to the General, not to you, acting as if you are part of the scenery. General Hux doesn't look to be in a forgiving mood; he barely acknowledges either of them, save to shoo the forms away. “Cadet L/N.” The sharp edge isn't gone from his voice, not quite, but the switchblade has been retracted for now. _Here's hoping I don't do anything that makes him yell at_ **_me_ ** _like that._ “You mentioned needing to meet with me?”

“Yes, General. I apologize for interrupting-” He waves your apology away as though it is a tangible thing that he wants no part of, a fly perhaps, “-but I had something to discuss with you.” His look is expectant, and you sigh internally. _I can't very well tell the whole bridge we might have an assassin on board._ “Relevant to the meeting we had yesterday.”

“Ah.” _Good, he got it._ “You're dismissed, Lieutenant. Both of you. Cadet, this conversation is better held in my office.”

Without waiting for a response, indeed without even waiting to see if you were following him, General Hux strides off. After giving you a pair of long, appraising glances, the two Lieutenants do the same.

It's easier keeping up this time; though you aren't being towed along by the Force, the General’s steps are less hurried when he's not trying to outpace Commander Ren. Walking alongside him is altogether different; Kylo seethes with barely restrained energy, slowly widening cracks in the thin shell of his calm. It's in the set of his shoulders, the clench of his hands, the gait that is more of a controlled prowl. General Hux, in contrast, is measured, deliberate. He matches your steps with an easy grace; not effortless, conscious.

The reaction it elicits is different too. With Kylo looming around like a personal Grim Reaper, conversations falter and gazes drop; with General Hux they merely pause, a temporary hush that waits until his office door is shut to burst back to chattering life.

“Take a seat.” He indicates a chair opposite his desk- one of two, you note, remembering the conversation from yesterday. Noticing your glance at the chair, General Hux remarks, “You've lost your shadow, I see. Pity, I actually had a seat ready for him today.”

After you are comfortably situated, the General turns on the recording device. “Begin recording. You've said that you have some more relevant information regarding the droid investigation, Cadet L/N?” He prompts.

“Yes, General. About an hour ago, I overheard a discussion in a maintenance hallway off of the Executive Deck…”

You summarize the conversation, leaving out the part where you got trapped in the hallway because you forgot to charge your datapad. “Commander Ren advised me to download some of the security camera footage to show to you as well. I wasn't able to obtain the security logs; I don't have the clearance and the Commander didn't have the time to download them.”

“Interesting.” The General reaches across the table and takes your datapad from your grasp. _I suppose it would be a bit much to expect him to ask first._ _At least he doesn't look bored this time_.

He does seem significantly more engaged in the topic of conversation today, although you can't tell whether it's because Kylo is no longer there to irritate him, or whether he's just interested in learning more about the people apparently trying to kill him.

If you had to guess, it would be the former.

“Can I ask why you felt the need to report to Commander Ren first?” His tone is conversational, light enough that it very nearly catches you off guard. His gaze belies the easygoing sound of his voice; his grey eyes are icy again. _Whoops. See, this is why I need Kylo to do the talking._

“I felt like it would be a chain of command issue, sir.” You suspect that implying you consider him to be of a higher rank than Kylo will do much to defuse the situation. “I know that technically you're my direct superior now, but I also know you're very busy and I wasn't sure you'd have the time to meet with me right away. Commander Ren seemed to be less occupied, and I thought it would have been more appropriate to have him schedule a meeting with you. It was after he was unable to, due to a prior commitment that I contacted you directly.”

 _Jackpot_ , you think as he turns his attention back to the datapad. “I suppose that's a sensible conclusion to draw. For future reference, Cadet, you do not need to go through the Commander to speak to me. I appreciate your consideration and discretion, but I assure you that it is unnecessary, especially in cases like this.”

“Yes, sir.” You make your voice as chagrined as possible.

“It's not a reprimand, L/N.” It's not a smile that crosses his lips, but it's perhaps 30% of one; it's all you need to be sure that you've successfully talked your way out of this particular situation.

“Sir.”

His expression is thoughtful as he watches the security camera footage, his posture so intent that you aren't even sure he breathes until it's done. He gestures on the screen to zoom in, zoom out, rotate the viewing angle. “I will need to speak to Facilities. The cameras in that hallway have been compromised. The viewing angles are altered. Still, even if we don't have facial scans, we have a possible name for one person, and we can theorize that they must have Executive Deck access.” He passes you the datapad, picking up his own.

Executive Deck access, plus they had the forethought and ability to adjust the cameras before their meeting. This was becoming more ominous by the day.

“I'm going to have a pair of troopers escort you back to your quarters.” The redhead is engrossed in something on his screen again; whether it's related to the topic at hand, you can't be sure. “Just as a precaution, though based off of the conversation you overheard, it doesn't sound like you're in any immediate danger. Still,” He looks at you again, adding weight to the next words. “I'll need you to keep an eye on your messages and check them in a _timely_ fashion.” He pauses, seemingly to make sure he has your full attention. “ _Not_ twelve hours after they are sent. I may have cause to alter your living arrangements in light of recent developments.”

You don't have to fake the embarrassment this time. “I will check my inbox more regularly, sir.”

“See to it that you do. Dismissed, Cadet.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was so difficult to write! I knew what needed to happen, but it was like the words just didn't want to go. I'm trying to stick to a regular posting schedule though, so I had to force myself to quit nitpicking and get it on the page. I hope everyone likes it!

Though you hadn't seen or heard him contact the troopers he mentioned, when you exit General Hux's office (the bridge falling into another intrigued hush at your reappearance), two of them are waiting for you near the door.

They offer you salutes; they're half hearted, uncertain as they glance at your rank insignia. You can nearly hear their train of thought: “She's a Cadet, so we shouldn't salute her, but General Hux arranged for an armed escort for her, that means she's important. So we should salute. Even if she's a Cadet. Right?”

This marks the second time you've been saluted in as many days. _Kind of cool._ You nod at them, more a slight inclination of the head than anything else, and, taking a page from a higher ranked book, set off for your destination without a backward glance.

Actually, you can see why both the General and the Commander do that so often. The sudden clatter of armor as both troopers rush to keep up with you is gratifying, and you struggle to keep from laughing at their schadenfreude. At least for a few minutes. By the time you reach the palm reader and retinal scanner, you're rather over the whole thing. The two troopers keep lagging behind you, just inside your peripheral vision, and you keep thinking that you hear them talking, but it's too low to catch and it makes you feel weird. Plus, the fact that you have an escort attracts way more attention than you'd like; you pass by two groups of junior officers clustered outside of the mess, and at least three facilities technicians, and they all pause to salute. It makes you feel like an imposter.

“You guys don't really have to follow me anymore.” You offer, once you've arrived at the entrance to the Exec Deck. You gesture at the door to get your point across. “I've been… Uh, safely delivered, I guess.”

They exchange a look. You get the impression that they are still trying to figure out how best to address you. “We were directed to escort you to your front door.” One of them responds, tacking on a hurried, “Ma’am,” when his partner nudges him.

_Suit themselves_. You shrug, turning back to the scanner. “That's fine.”

They relax at your ready acceptance, and you think you hear one of them mutter something about, “-was afraid she'd be a-” The sound of the door opening drowns out the rest. They deliver you to your room without incident, though you catch one peeking inside as you enter, curiosity fairly evident. Makes sense; you've heard the Stormtrooper barracks are even tinier than the non combatant personnel dorms. _Hope the whole Stormtrooper escort thing isn't going to be a regular occurrence_.

As you head into the bedroom, fully intending on a nap to unwind from the stresses of the day, you spy a note resting on top of your datapad. The handwriting is heavy, dark, a little messy. “Sorry about earlier. Come to my quarters after your meeting? It's the one at the end.” Scrawled underneath are a series of numbers, presumably the note writer's door code.

You wonder briefly why Kylo didn't say anything. Maybe he tried but you were too far away to pick up his thoughts? _I don't even know if that's a thing._ You muse as you shake your hair out of the regulation bun. _Maybe he'll tell me what happened in his meeting. If it was with the Supreme Leader, it had to be important._

Remembering your previous error, you double check the battery level of your datapad before you leave the room: fully charged. You won't be getting trapped in any hallways this time.

Kylo's rooms are silent when you enter, the kind of hush that makes you tiptoe and place your datapad down gently on his coffee table. His rooms are nearly bare, somehow having even fewer personal effects than yours, despite you moving in only hours before. His robes, helmet and gloves are hung near the door; they're the only indication that Kylo is actually in his quarters. He seems to be missing in action, not in his living room, nor the kitchen. Passing through the open door into his bedroom, you expect to see him in there, but the room is empty, save for the furniture. “Kylo?” Your call goes unanswered.

You should be able to feel him, if he's here, but you can't. All the emotions you're experiencing are purely your own. _Could he be with the Supreme Leader still?_

Light leaks from the half open door of the refresher; a few moments of waiting tell you he's not in there either. Stymied, you almost head back into the living room to wait, but in the scanty illumination from the ‘fresher, you notice a second door, this one set into the wall and lacking a keypad or an automatic sensor. You run your fingers along the hairline groove where the door meets the wall proper. _If it had been just a little darker in here, I never would have seen it_.

As you open your mouth to call his name again, the door slides open under your fingers.

It would make sense for Kylo to look smaller, less imposing without the voluminous robes, but he doesn't. Clad head to toe in close fitting casual clothing, black as usual, he fills the doorway, and his presence washes over you.

“I was wondering where you were hiding.” You keep your tone purposely playful to disguise the relief that his sudden appearance brought. It was a little creepy, being in his rooms without him.

“I was meditating.” He raises his shoulders in a half shrug. “I find it useful to clear my mind after I meet with the Supreme Leader.” He does feel more relaxed than he did earlier today.

He brushes past you, heading for the door of the refresher and nudging it open further with his elbow. The awkward motion draws your attention to his hands, which are covered in a fine film of something grey and powdery.

“Why are your hands covered in dust?”

“Ashes.” He doesn't elaborate as he rinses his hands.

“What do ashes have to do with meditation?”

Your question gives him pause, makes him turn from the metal basin to regard you. “You don't want the answer to that.” He drops a kiss on your forehead, perhaps to soften the brusqueness of his previous statement, then brushes past you again on the way out of the bedroom. You trail behind him, following him into the living area. “You're not nervous anymore. That means your meeting went well, I take it?” Kylo is in your head, sifting through your memories even as he speaks, and you pull back with alacrity, swiftly enough that he gives you a surprised look, with just the faintest bit of hurt edging around his thoughts.

“Not unless you promise to tell me about your meeting too.” _You're not getting out of this one that easily._

That awful blue tint of injured feelings fades from him. “You _know_ it's above your security clearance. It's not about the rogue Stormtrooper, anyway.” He chastises you. “It's related to the droid troubles I mentioned before.” You give him your best puppy dog eyes; they utterly fail to influence him. Instead, Kylo makes a come hither motion with his hand and you are propelled into his arms.

“You know you don't have to use the Force to move me, right?” You protest, rather half-heartedly.

“I'm aware. I enjoy it.” The couch frame creaks in protest under your combined weight as he settles down, pulling you along with him into an easy sprawl. His fingers slide into your hair, his mouth finds yours, and he continues speaking without a pause. _I suspect you enjoy it too. At least right now._

He's so damn smug about it that it makes you want to lie and say that you don't, but his tongue is tracing the seam of your lips while his thumb is stroking the back of your neck again; it doesn't make it impossible to focus, but it does make it difficult. Soon enough you give over the attempt entirely. This does nothing to diminish the self satisfied air that lingers around him; it only intensifies when he pulls back just long enough to remark, “The chain of command statement was genius, by the way.”

“I thought it went over well.”

His hand slips lower, fingers trailing aimlessly up and down your spine as his tongue finds yours. _If it didn't, you'd know by now. What's this about Hux being Force Sensitive?_

“Mm… OK. Don't laugh, Kylo.” You admonish him, and his face assumes a mask of solemnity. “I promise it makes sense.”

“I'm sure.”

“You know how I can tell how you're feeling?” You begin, watching his expression. “Like right now you want to laugh but you're holding it in?” He hums his assent, his amusement deepening. To Kylo's credit, his serious expression never even wavers. “The emotion projecting Force thing, General Hux _does_ that.”

Kylo chews on his lower lip; a casual observer might think he was considering the statement, but you're fairly sure he's trying to maintain his composure. “I'm serious, Kylo.”

“Oh, I can tell.” His fingers pull through your hair, pausing to rest lightly on your temple. “What kind of emotions are you feeling him project?”

“This morning when I asked for a meeting, he was surprised. That's a new one, normally he vacillates between boredom and impatience.” You cast your mind back to earlier in the day, recalling when you walked onto the bridge. “He was in a bad mood when I saw him, I'm pretty sure he was annoyed about getting a bunch of requisition forms. Oh, and he thought the chain of command thing was funny.”

The tenor of Kylo's mood changes the longer you speak; lazy humor blends into intrigue which is transmuted into watchfulness. “Show me.” He murmurs, fingers still flush against your temple. He doesn't push this time, maybe remembering this morning.

After he spends some small amount of time reviewing your memories (his touch is delicate, his concern obvious), he lets his hand drift back to the nape of your neck. He is silent for so long that it makes you almost anxious; his good humor replaced by the equivalent of mental static whenever you try to reach out for him. Finally, he meets your questioning gaze with a look that is coolly thoughtful, a hair's breadth from calculating. It makes you feel very small, unsure; makes you instinctively draw back from him. The shift in your positioning is what breaks the moment; Kylo's eyes warm, soften, and he coaxes you back into his embrace with gentle pressure against the small of your back. “Nothing ever is easy for you, is it?”

Now that the terrible temporary coldness between you has thawed, you bury your face in his neck, feeling his pulse beat, slow and steady against your lips. “Just spit it out, Kylo.”

He snorts, the sound not entirely devoid of mirth. “Well, you _are_ picking up on his mental state with remarkable clarity. There's that. And you _are_ correct, to an extent. The Force is facilitating that. It's… Not General Hux using it.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back :)

“So… If it's not him, then… I mean, it can't be me. Unless-” A new thought occurs to you. “Does the Force… rub off on people? Is that a-”

No, judging by the way Kylo is laughing at you, the Force is decidedly _not_ a thing that rubs off on people. When his chest stills and his breath recovers, he explains, “You didn't catch a connection to the Force through me. You couldn't. It would be like catching the color of my hair or of my eyes. ‘I hung around Kylo too long and now I'm a brunette.’” He tugs on a lock of your hair to emphasize the point.

He takes a moment to gather his thoughts. “Sometimes being subjected to the use of the Force can trigger abilities that were latent. Think of it as rain. On barren soil, it'll just make the ground wet. But if the _environment_ is right…”

Kylo kisses the top of your head, finishing the thought as a thought. _Then it can make flowers bloom._

_That's very romantic, but… you admit that it's all your fault._

**_You're welcome_** _, you little shit._ Equivalent parts endearment and asperity in his tone; in the way he jerks your head back to envelope your mouth with his, in the stinging bite he delivers to your bottom lip.

“You'll need training.” The calculating look is in his eyes again; you are weighed and measured in his gaze, and perhaps found a little lacking. “I don't yet have time to take on an apprentice, and you're not capable enough to start training on your own. Don't _sulk_ , Y/N, it's not an insult. You're the raw clay; not yet a vessel.”

“What am I supposed to be thanking you for, again?”

“You're still sulking. I have time enough to teach you a few things. We'll start with a basic meditation exercise; every Force user must learn to meditate.”

Kylo turns you to face away from him, his chest against your back. His palm ghosts over your face, cups your chin for a brief moment, then falls, fingertips running down your arm like silk to twine with yours. _Now relax. Let your body become still. Breathe deep._ The rise and fall of his chest against you guides you, gives you the pace for your inhalations.

_Meditation is a tool to enter gnosis, the state in which you are so focused on a single thought, object or idea that you cease to think at all. It is a gateway to the Force. When your conscious mind speaks to the Force, the Force flowing through you is weak because the conscious mind cannot concentrate on one thing. When you speak to the Force with your unconscious mind, you channel it more efficiently. Eventually it becomes an extension of your will._

Under Kylo’s quiet tutelage, you bring your attention to your breath, counting each inhale and trying your hardest to keep your mind clear, something Kylo tells you is _inhibitory gnosis_. You struggle to concentrate, your fragile clarity broken by the brush of his thumbs down the back of your hands.

_You're very easily distracted._ It's not untrue; his proximity makes your heart race and your mind wander. _Calming a mind like yours is like swimming against the tide. Instead of struggling to push those thoughts away, lean into them. Focus. Feel the blood coursing through your veins. Feel the heat blossoming in the pit of your stomach. There is power in those things, if you can channel it._

He pushes your hair over your shoulder and leans close, lips brushing the back of your neck as he whispers to you. _This is excitatory gnosis._ “Focus. Focus with me. Focus for me.” He pauses to nip the nape of your neck and you hear the first hints of his own desire in the heat that ripples through his words when he continues, “Focus on me. Any of those will work.” Kylo soothes the stinging bite mark with a swipe of his tongue; kisses the knob of bone at the base of your neck, light and too brief before he pulls you off of his lap and stands. He glances over his shoulder at you, smiles at the soft noise of frustration that you make. “We will have some time to practice. I called you over because I wanted to be the first to tell you that we're moving to Starkiller Base. You'll see the message from your CO shortly.”

As if on cue, your datapad makes a chiming noise. You almost ignore it in favor of watching Kylo, the languid stretch that rolls down his body. Almost, then the General's admonition to check your messages regularly echoes through your mind again and you tear your eyes off of Kylo’s form and turn them to the screen in front of you.

Skimming through the message, which doesn't contain much more than you already knew, though some information is of interest- indefinite length of transfer to Starkiller Base, transport leaving at 0600 hours, travel time of a galactic standard day and a half- you turn back to your companion. “Are you going to tell me why I'm being moved to Starkiller? Or is that classified too?” 

“I…” Kylo teeters on the edge of a response, temporary indecision wafting off of him. It turns into something playful as he tugs you off of the couch, pulls your datapad out of your hands and draws you into his arms again. “I think I'll have you practice your meditation tonight and tell me what you pick up from General Hux tomorrow. Hm?” He tilts your face up with a knuckle under your chin, thumb passing over your bottom lip. You are unsure whether it's his arms that pull you in or his use of the Force, but when his tongue flickers across your lips and presses into your mouth, you decide that you don't care. You lean into him; as you try to deepen the kiss that playful air intensifies and Kylo nips your lower lip again, chuckling as he pulls back. “Focus. We'll meditate more tomorrow.”

_There's something that can be said about a man that makes you excited to meditate_. You reflect. _And those are words I never thought I'd say._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someday I'm earning this E rating. Little short one here, I mostly wanted to get some work out. It has been too long and I've missed you guys :)


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unlucky number thirteen. This chapter is pretty short, just a transition between two scenes.

Kylo is the last thing on your mind before you fall into a deep sleep that night, and he's the first thing on your mind when you wake again, although that is largely because he's whispering your name.

“Kylo?” You're fuzzy with sleep, leaden, and you turn in your sheets to look for him. The bed is empty and you're dimly surprised, only realizing his voice is in your head, not your ears when a foreign sense of amusement wells within you.

_If you'd wanted me to spend the night with you, you should have asked._

“Yeah, we could have meditated together.” You grumble, rubbing sleep from your eyes and checking the time. Just after 0500, plenty of time to catch the transport. “Why'd you wake me up this early?”

_I think you'll want more than the ten minutes you budgeted to get ready for the transport. Be ready in twenty, I'll accompany you to the hangar._

You don't, actually. You wanted the maximum amount of sleep you could fit in before you got on the transport since you always had trouble falling asleep on them. No use arguing though; once you're awake, you're awake and Kylo doesn't sound inclined to give you five more minutes, much less thirty.

“Is it a date?” You quip, finally getting out of bed. Part of you wants to be annoyed at Kylo for dismissing your ability to set your own schedule. You are an adult after all; even if he does outrank you, and don't need more than ten minutes to get ready to leave.

Swinging your legs out of the soft cocoon of blankets, you catch one toe on the edge of your bag and swear under your breath. You'd packed what few personal effects you have the night before. Your bag, full of your tools, your uniforms, the one formal dress you own, jewelry and cosmetics and your personal star chart with your home planet highlit rests right by the foot of the bed where you left it and you drag it over to the door.

_You're a cheap date, clearly._

“Oh, whatever.” You try to push him out of your head like shutting a door in a telemarketers face; it's largely ineffectual.

_You'll need to do more than meditate to pull that off. Though I appreciate your initiative. Perhaps we'll work on more in depth mind probes sometime soon. Eighteen minutes now._

Your mind falls quiet and you realize that he has obeyed your unspoken request and left you alone to get ready. “Smug bastard.”

_My parents are married._

Or maybe he hasn't. Either way, you don the casual blacks you'd left out the night before. According to the message from General Hux, you were still relieved of regular duty and wearing your uniform on your day off wasn't an idea you relished, especially when it entailed a day and a half on a transport. All the technology in the galaxy and the First Order couldn't create comfortable uniform pants; that and you'd rather walk across the whole of the shooting range while the troopers were doing live fire training than wear the snug fitting uniform dress around your new commanding officer. You'd worn it once since you got it: on a much delayed laundry day when you had exactly 0 other clean uniforms. Your CO's eyes had nearly popped out of his head and as soon as the pants were dry the dress was consigned to a life in the back of your closet, never to see the light of day (or the closest simulated equivalent) ever again.

The hall is dim, the service lighting at half brightness. Another benefit of the Executive Deck, they actually lower the lights during off-duty hours because none of the residents do shift work. Your appreciation for this deck grows more with each passing day. Your vision adjusts to the change in lighting slowly and it takes you some time to notice the transport droid patiently waiting by your shin, emitting an occasional soft beep. You turn your attention to it and it whirs to life, chirping merrily once you lower your duffel bag onto the surface it provides for you. Again, you resolve to learn Binary; you're reasonably sure that it expresses some kind of thankfulness at the weight of your bag.

“It did. Did you pack lightly?” The voice, familiar even through its modulator, captures your attention. “Good morning, Cadet.” Kylo doesn't materialize from the shadows; instead the shadows seem to resolve themselves into Kylo. He's made out of them; they drape him like black velvet.

“Good morning, Commander Ren.”

He inclines his head in acknowledgement as a small squadron of Stormtroopers surround the two of you, offering you both salutes. “Commander Ren. Cadet L/N. General Hux is down in the hangar. He wanted us to inform you that you can board the transport to Starkiller Base at your earliest convenience, sir. Ma’am.”

Kylo declines to respond, sweeping down the hallway without as much as a backwards glance. The troopers seem to expect as much from him, and by extension you; the trooper who relayed the message coughs and offers you a half hearted salute when you thank him. 

The Commander doesn't slow for you, but he does pause at the biometrics station after his scan, long enough so that you can catch up, and lingers while the machine checks you as well.

“Have you ever been to Starkiller Base, Cadet?” When you tell him that you haven't, he nods. “Most haven't. It's an ice planet, originally located in the Unknown Regions. It is now mobile, and outfitted with technology that I'm not able to give you any specifics about at this time. Clearance. This trip over will be a little different than any transport you've been on previously. The surface of Starkiller Base cannot be accessed by any ship traveling at sublight speed.”

“Hyperspace transports are rare.” You remark. “They usually save those engines for bigger ships.”

“Yes. Generally speaking, staff on Starkiller does not rotate out on a regular basis.”

“Does this mean that this will be a permanent reassignment for me, Commander?” You try to keep the worry out of your voice. It's fruitless; even if Kylo couldn't use the Force to gauge your emotional weather, you can hear the soft quaver in your tone.

“For you? Unlikely, Cadet.” The words are dismissive; he balms the sting of them with a comforting tap of his hand against the small of your back, withdrawn soon for propriety’s sake as you pass into the hangar.

Even at this early hour, it bustles with activity. Even at this hour, walking into the room with Commander Ren by your side is a political act, it draws all eyes to you and you have to repress the desire to shrink back under the scrutiny.

“Commander Ren.” The redhead standing in front of the transport acknowledges your companion without ever bothering to look up from his ever present datapad. “Good morning, Cadet.” General Hux’s greeting to you is marginally warmer in tone; it is somewhat of a relief. “I'm aware that this is your first trip to Starkiller Base, Cadet, and I regret that it had to be arranged on such short notice. Both the Commander and myself have business that cannot be handled from elsewhere.” 

“I understand, General. I'm glad to be included and I hope that I can be of some assistance.” It's not a lie; while you don't want to be reassigned to Starkiller Base, it at least proves to be a new experience.

“As of right now, you're still relieved of duty, Cadet. Your enthusiasm is noted, but this will primarily be a learning experience for you.”

A very diplomatic way of saying your job is to stay out of the way and not do anything. _I could stay on the Finalizer and do that._ Oh well. At least it's a change of scenery, though ice planets have never been your favorite thing.

The transport is a small, sleek black thing, a comfortable fit for you but undoubtedly a snug one for the Commander, and probably not overly pleasant for the General either. Luckily for them, the transport is largely empty, just you, the two officers and a small cluster of Flametroopers, undoubtedly as security.

You choose a seat near the rear, away from the humming of the gravity generator but not close enough to the roar of the engine to keep you awake. You're still tired, fumbling with your harness for a long time with clumsy fingers; as soon as it clicks into place, you feel the thrusters turn over and the whine of the hyperspace drive start; you close your eyes and reach for sleep.

It eludes you for some time; your stomach does the familiar flip flops as you take off and jump to light speed. You don't manage to doze off until Kylo takes the seat next to you. He doesn't speak, not aloud at least; leather whispers against fabric and his palm caresses the back of your neck. _Sleep_. He murmurs into your mind and drowsiness swallows you whole.


End file.
